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BOOKS  BY 


C&arlee 

(MARY  N.  MURFREE.) 


IN    THE   TENNESSEE    MOUNTAINS.      Short 
Stories.     i6mo,  $  1.25. 

DOWN  THE  RAVINE.    Illustrated.   i6mo,$i.oo. 

THE    PROPHET    OF    THE     GREAT    SMOKY 
MOUNTAINS.     A  Novel.     i6mo,  $1.25. 

IN   THE   CLOUDS.    A  Novel.     i6mo,  $1.25. 

THE    STORY   OF    KEEDON    BLUFFS.     i6mo, 
$1.00. 

HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  &  CO. 
BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK. 


THE 


STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS 


BY 


CHARLES   EGBERT  CRADDOCK 

AUTHOR   OF   "IN   THK   CLOUDS,"    "DOWN    THE   RAVINE,"    "  IN   THE 

TENNESSEE   MOUNTAINS,"    "  THE    PROPHET   OF   THK 

GREAT   SMOKY    MOUNTAINS,"    ETC. 


BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON,    MIFFLIN    AND    COMPANY 


1888 


Copyright,  1887, 
BY  MARY   N.  MURFREE. 

All  rights  reserved. 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge.- 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  II.  0.  Houghton  &  Co. 


rs 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 


I. 

TOWERING  into  the  air,  reflected  deep  in 
the  river,  the  great  height  of  Keedon  Bluffs 
is  doubled  to  the  casual  glance  and  augmented 
in  popular  rumor.  Nevertheless  a  vast  mass 
of  rock  it  is,  splintered  and  creviced,  and  with 
rugged,  beetling  ledges,  all  atilt,  and  here 
and  there  a  niche  which  holds  a  hardy  shrub, 
subsisting  surely  on  the  bounty  of  the  air  or 
the  smile  of  the  sun,  for  scant  sustenance  can 
be  coaxed  from  the  solid  sandstone. 

Here  bats  and  lizards  colonize,  and  amongst 
the  trailing  vines  winged  songsters  find  a 
home,  and  sometimes  stealthy,  four-footed, 
marauding  shadows,  famous  climbers,  creep 
in  and  out  of  the  hollows  of  the  rocks,  for  it 
is  in  the  very  heart  of  the  wilderness  on  a 
slope  of  the  Great  Smoky  Range.  Naught 


2    THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

was  likely  to  behold  them  —  save  their  own 
bright-eyed  images  in  the  swift  current  below, 
or  perhaps  a  wayfaring  cloud  above,  journey 
ing  adown  the  sky  from  the  zenith  —  until 
one  day  a  boy  chanced  to  come  this  way  in 
driving  home  the  cow ;  he  paused  on  one  side 
of  the  horseshoe  bend,  which  the  river  de 
scribes  just  here,  and  gazed  fixedly  across  the 
bight  at  the  bluffs. 

If  at  this  moment  one  of  the  shy  dwellers 
of  the  cliff  had  thrust  forth  an  unwary  head 
there  was  no  need  to  hastily  withdraw  it. 
The  boy's  attention  was  concentrated  on  a 
motionless  object  lying  on  a  ledge ;  he  looked 
at  it  in  doubting  surprise.  It  was  a  cannon- 
ball,  precariously  lodged  where  it  had  fallen, 
spent  and  harmless,  years  ago. 

For  Keedon  Bluffs  had  not  always  been  so 
silent.  They  had  echoed  the  clamors  of  artil 
lery.  Not  that  a  battle  was  ever  fought  in 
these  fastnesses,  but  once  from  a  distant  point 
the  woods  in  the  cove  were  shelled,  and,  rang 
ing  further  than  the  bursting  bombs,  this 
solid  round  shot  cleared  the  river  at  the 
mountain's  base,  and  dropped  at  last  on  the 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.    3 

ledge,  remaining  the  only  memento  of  the 
day.  Covered  with  rust,  half  draped  by  a 
vine,  peaceful  and  motionless  and  mute,  it 
lay.  And  Ike  Guyther,  looking  at  it,  wished 
that  he  had  lived  in  those  times  of  riding  and 
raiding,  when  the  batteries  roared  their  sul 
phurous  thunder,  and  flung  their  shells,  hur 
tling  along  these  quiet  woodland  ways,  with 
fuses  all  a-flaring. 

"  Folks  in  them  days  hed  a  chance  ter 
show  thar  grit,  an'  ride,  an'  fight,  an'  fire  off 
them  big  guns,"  he  grumbled,  when  he  had 
gone  back  to  his  father's  cabin,  in  Tanglefoot 
Cove,  three  miles  away,  and  had  detailed  his 
discovery  to  the  fireside  group.  "  They  war 
mos'ly  boys,  no  older  sca'cely  'n  me.  An' 
hyar  I  be  —  a-drivin*  up  the  cow  !  " 

"  Waal,  now,"  exclaimed  his  mother  in  her 
consolatory  drawl,  "  ye  oughter  be  powerful 
thankful  ye  hev  got  a  cow  ter  drive.  The 
gu'rillas  made  beef  o'  yer  aunt  Jemimy's 
cow." 

"  An'  fur  goodness'  sake  look  at  yer  uncle 
Abner  ef  ye  hanker  so  ter  go  a-fightin',"  his 
aunt  Jemima  tartly  admonished  him. 


4         THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

There  sat  all  day  beside  the  wood-fire  a 
man  of  middle  age,  but  with  a  face  strangely 
young.  It  was  like  the  face  of  a  faded  paint 
ing,  changing  only  in  the  loss  of  color.  The 
hair,  growing  off  a  broad  forehead,  was 
bleaching  fast ;  the  tints  had  become  dim  on 
cheek  and  lip,  but  time  and  care  had  drawn 
no  lines,  and  an  expression  of  childlike  tran 
quillity  hovered  about  the  downcast  eyes,  for 
ever  shielded  by  the  drooping  lids.  Life 
seemed  to  have  ended  for  him  twenty  years 
before,  on  a  day  surcharged  with  disaster, 
when  the  great  gun,  which  had  been  a  sort  of 
Thor  to  him,  and  which  he  had  served  with 
an  admiring  affection  and  reverent  care,  was 
spiked  by  its  own  cannoneers  that  it  might 
fall  useless  into  the  hands  of  the  enemy.  It 
was  the  last  thing  he  ever  saw  —  this  great 
silenced  god  of  thunder  —  as  he  stood  beside 
it  with  the  sponge-staff  in  his  hand.  For 
among  the  shells  shrieking  through  the 
smoky  air,  one  was  laden  with  his  doom.  A 
hiss  close  at  hand,  the  din  of  an  abrupt  explo 
sion,  and  he  fell  unconscious  under  the  car 
riage  of  the  piece,  and  there  he  was  captured. 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.    5 

And  when  the  war  was  over  and  he  came 
Torth  alike  from  the  prison  and  the  hospital, 
blinded  and  helpless,  naught  remained  to  him 
but  to  vaguely  ponder  on  what  had  been  in 
the  days  that  had  gone  forever,  for  he  hardly 
seemed  to  look  to  the  future,  and  the  present 
was  empty-handed. 

He  had  met  his  grief  and  the  darkness  with 
a  stoicism  difficult  to  comprehend.  He  spent 
his  days  in  calm  unimbittered  meditation,  not 
gentle,  but  with  flashes  of  his  old  spirit  to 
attest  his  unchanged  identity.  Acclimated 
to  sorrow,  without  hope,  or  fear,  or  anxiety, 
or  participation  in  life,  time  could  but  pass 
him  by,  and  youth  seemed  to  abide  with 
him. 

The  old  martial  interest  flared  up  when 
Ike  told  of  his  discovery  on  the  ledge  of  Kee- 
don  Bluffs. 

"  What  kind  o'  ball,  Ike  ?  "  he  demanded. 

But  Ike  had  been  born  too  late  to  be  dis 
cerning  as  to  warlike  projectiles. 

"  I  wisht  I  could  lay  my  hand  on  it !  "  said 
the  blind  artillery-man.  "  I  '11  be  bound  I  'd 
know,  ef  I  jes'  could  heft  it  wunst !  Whar 


6         THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

did  it  lodge,  Ike  ?  Could  I  make  out  ter  git 
a-nigh  it  ?  Could  ye  an'  me  git  thar  ter- 
gether  ?  " 

"  Ye  'pear  b'reft,  Abner !  "  aunt  Jemima 
cried  out  angrily.  "  Ye  mus'  hev  los'  more  'n 
yer  sight.  Hev  ye  furgot  how  Keedon  Bluffs 
look  ?  Thar  ain't  nobody  sca'cely  ez  could 
keep  foot-hold  'mongst  them  sheer  cliffs. 
An'  ye  ought  n't  ter  be  aggin'  on  Ike  ter 
climb  sech  places  —  git  his  neck  bruk.  Ye 
hain't  got  no  call,  sure,  ter  set  store  on  no 
mo'  cannon-balls,  an'  artillery,  an'  sech.  I 
'low  ez  ye  'd  hev  hed  enough  o'  guns,  an'  I 
wish  ye  'd  never  hed  nuthin'  ter  do  with  no 
rebels." 

For  this  was  one  of  the  divided  families  so 
usual  in  East  Tennessee,  and  while  the  elders 
had  clung  to  the  traditions  of  their  fathers  — 
the  men  fighting  staunchly  for  the  Union  — 
the  youngest  had  as  a  mere  boy  fled  from  his 
home  to  join  the  Confederate  forces,  and  had 
stood  by  his  gun  through  many  a  fiery  hail 
of  battle  storms.  But  the  bitterness  of  these 
differences  was  fast  dying  out. 

"  I  hev  gin   the  word,"  said  Ike's  father, 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.         7 

and  grizzled,  and  stern,  and  gigantic,  he 
looked  eminently  fitted  to  maintain  his  be 
hests,  "  ez  no  mo'  politics  air  ter  be  talked 
roun'  this  ha'th-stone,  Jemimy." 

"  I  ain't  talkin'  no  politics,"  retorted  aunt 
Jemima,  sharply.  "  But  I  ain't  goin'  ter 
hold  my  jaw  tee-totally.  I  never  kin  git  over 
hevin'  Ab  settin'  up  hyar  plumb  benighted ! 
plumb  benighted  !  —  ez  blind  ez  a  mole  !  " 
She  shook  her  head  with  a  sort  of  acrimoni 
ous  melancholy. 

"  Yes,"  drawlingly  admitted  the  blind  artil 
lery-man,  all  unmoved  by  this  uncheerful 
discourse.  "  Yes,  that 's  a  true  word."  He 
lifted  his  head  suddenly  and  tossed  back  the 
gray  hair  from  his  boyish  face.  "But  I  hev 
seen  —  sights  !  " 

Even  less  tolerated  than  politics  were  Ike's 
repinings  and  longings  for  some  flaunting 
military  exploit.  "  Take  yer  axe,"  his  sol 
dier-father  said  sternly,  "  an'  show  what 
sort  'n  grit  ye  hev  got  at  the  wood-pile." 

The  blind  man  with  a  laugh  more  leniently 
suggested,  "  Ye  would  n't  hev  been  much  use 
ter  we-uns  in  our  battery,  Ike,  throwin'  up 


8         THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

a  yearth-work  ter  pertect  the  guns  an'  sech, 
seein'  the  way  ye  fairly  de-spise  a  spade." 

Ike  had  yet  to  learn  that  it  is  the  spirit  in 
which  a  deed  is  done  that  dignifies  and  mag 
nifies  it. 

He  found  the  stories  of  the  military  glories 
he  would  have  achieved,  had  the  opportunity 
fallen  to  his  lot,  much  more  gently  treated 
by  a  certain  young  neighbor,  who  had  indeed 
a  good  and  willing  pair  of  ears,  and  much 
readiness  and  adaptability  of  assent.  Very 
pliable,  withal,  was  "  Skimpy  "  Sawyer  —  by 
the  nickname  "  Skimpy "  he  was  familiarly 
known,  a  tribute  to  his  extreme  spareness. 
He  was  peculiarly  thin,  and  wiry,  and  loose- 
jointed.  He  had  a  good-natured  freckled 
face,  paler  for  the  contrast  with  a  crop  of  red 
hair  ;  a  twinkling  and  beguiling  brown  eye  ; 
great  nimbleness  of  limb ;  and  many  comical 
twists  of  countenance  at  command. 

He  accompanied  Ike  blithely  enough  to 
Keedon  Bluffs,  one  afternoon,  to  look  at  the 
cannon  -  ball  on  the  ledge.  A  bridle  -  path, 
almost  a  road  it  might  have  seemed  —  for  the 
woods,  bereft  of  undergrowth  by  the  annual 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.         9 

conflagrations,  gave  it  space  —  wound  along 
the  side  of  the  mountain  near  the  verge  of 
the  cliffs.  The  river,  all  scarlet,  and  silver, 
and  glinting  blue,  was  swirling  far  down  in 
the  chasm  beneath  them  ;  the  sheer  sandstone 
bank  rose  opposite,  solid  as  a  wall ;  and  be 
yond,  the  cove  —  its  woods,  and  cabins,  and 
roads,  and  fences,  bounded  by  the  interlacing 
mountains  —  lay  spread  out  like  an  open 
map. 

Peaceful  enough  it  was  to-day,  as  the  boys 
stood  on  the  Bluffs.  There  were  wings, 
homeward  bound,  hurrying  through  the  air, 
instead  of  shells  with  fuses  burning  bright 
against  the  sunset  sky.  No  bugle  sang.  The 
river  was  murmuring  low  a  plaintive  minor 
lay  that  one  might  hear  forever  and  never 
tire.  Scanty  shrubs  of  dogwood  and  sour- 
wood  flaunted,  red  and  orange,  from  the  rifts 
of  the  great  crags  ;  here  and  there  were  fis 
sures,  irregularly  shaped,  and  dark,  save  that 
upon  the  upper  arch  of  each  a  ceaseless  sil 
very  light  shimmered,  reflected  from  the  wa 
ter.  On  one  of  the  many  ledges  the  cannon- 
ball  lay  unstirred. 


10   THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

"  Skimpy,  I  b'lieve  I  could  actially  climb 
down  this  hyar  bluff  an'  coon  it  roun'  that 
thar  ledge  an'  git  that  ball,"  said  Ike,  balan 
cing  himself  dangerously  over  the  precipice. 

So  far  did  it  overhang  the  river  at  this 
point  that  he  was  startled  by  seeing  a  hat  and 
face  suddenly  looking  up  at  him  from  the 
depths  below,  and  it  was  a  moment  before  he 
realized  that  the  hat  and  face  were  his  own, 
mirrored  in  a  dark  pool. 

"  Ye  couldn't  climb  up  ag'in  with  it  in  yer 
paw,"  retorted  Skimpy. 

"  Naw,"  Ike  admitted.  "  But  ennyhow 
I  'd  like  ter  climb  down  thar  an'  see  what 's 
in  them  hollows.  I  b'lieve  I  could  git  inter 
one  o'  'em." 

Skimpy  had  taken  a  handful  of  pebbles 
and  was  skipping  them  down  the  river.  He 
turned  so  suddenly  that  the  one  in  his  hand 
flew  wide  of  the  mark  and  nearly  tipped  his 
friend's  hat  off  his  head. 

"  What  air  ye  a-hankerin'  ter  git  in  one  o' 
them  holes  fur  ?  "  he  demanded,  surprised, 
"  so  ez  ye  can't  git  out  ag'in  ?  'Pears-like  ter 
me  they  'd  be  a  mighty  tight  fit  on  sech  a  big 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.       11 

corn-fed  shoat  ez  ye  air.  An'  then  I  'd  hev 
ter  climb  down  thar  an'  break  my  neck,  I 
reckon,  ter  pull  ye  out  by  the  heels." 

"  I  would  n't  git  in  'thout  thar  'peared  ter 
be  plenty  o'  elbow  room,"  Ike  qualified. 

"  Who 's  that  ?  "  said  Skimpy,  suddenly. 

So  absorbed  had  they  been  that  until  this 
moment  they  were  not  aware  of  a  slow  ap 
proach  along  the  road  behind  them.  The 
sight  of  a  stranger  was  unusual,  but  so  little 
curiosity  do  the  mountaineers  manifest  in 
unknown  passers-by  that  if  the  man's  manner 
had  had  no  appeal  to  the  boys,  they  would 
hardly  have  lifted  their  eyes ;  they  would  not 
even  have  stared  after  his  back  was  turned. 

But  the  stranger  was  about  to  hail  them. 
He  had  already  lifted  his  hand  with  an  awk 
ward  wave  of  salutation.  Still  he  fixed  his 
eyes  upon  them  and  did  not  speak  as  he 
slouched  toward  them,  and  the  two  boys  were 
impressed  with  the  conviction  that  he  had 
heard  every  word  that  they  had  been  saying. 

He  was  a  tall,  dawdling  fellow  of  forty, 
perhaps,  carrying  a  rifle  on  his  shoulder,  and 
dressed  in  an  old  brown  jeans  suit,  ill-mended 


12   THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

and  patched  here  and  there,  and  with  some 
rents  not  patched  at  all.  His  hair,  long  and 
brown,  streaked  with  gray,  hung  down  to  his 
collar  beneath  his  old  broad  -  brimmed  wool 
hat.  His  face  was  lined  and  cadaverous,  his 
features  were  sharp  and  shrewd.  His  eyes, 
bright,  small,  dark,  and  somehow  not  reassur 
ing,  expressed  a  sort  of  anxiety  and  anger 
that  the  boys  could  not  comprehend. 

There  came  along  the  road  after  him, 
plainly  defined  on  the  summit  of  the  great 
bluffs,  between  the  woods  and  the  sunset 
sky,  with  the  river  in  the  abyss  beneath  and 
a  gleaming  star  in  the  haze  above,  a  gro 
tesque  little  cart,  the  wheels  creaking  dis 
mally  with  every  revolution  and  filling  the 
air  with  the  odor  of  tar  and  wagon  grease. 
A  lean  scraggy  ox  was  between  the  shafts  ; 
a  cow  shambled  along  at  the  tail-board  ;  a 
calf  and  two  or  three  dogs  trotted  further  in 
the  rear.  The  man  was  moving,  evidently, 
for  the  poverty  -  stricken  aspect  of  the  ve 
hicle  was  accented  by  the  meagre  show  of 
household  utensils  —  frying-pan,  oven,  skil 
let,  spinning-wheel  —  and  the  bedding,  and 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.       13 

• 

two  or  three  chairs  with  which  it  was  laden. 
On  top  of  it  all,  sitting  in  a  snug  nest  of 
quilts,  with  a  wealth  of  long  yellow  hair, 
tousled  and  curling  upon  her  shoulders,  was  a 
little  girl,  four  or  five  years  old.  Her  infan 
tile  beauty  had  naught  in  common  with  his 
down-looking,  doubtful,  careworn  face,  but 
she  fixed  the  two  boys  with  a  pair  of  grave, 
urgent,  warning  gray  eyes,  which  intimated 
that  whatever  the  man  might  do  or  say  he 
had  a  small  but  earnest  backer.  And  though 
the  autumn  leaves  were  red  and  yellow  above 
her  head,  the  roses  of  spring  bloomed  on  her 
cheek,  and  its  sunshine  was  tangled  in  her 
hair ;  all  its  buoyant  joys  were  in  her  laugh 
when  she  chose  to  be  merry,  and  her  smile 
brightened  the  world  for  him  and  for  her. 
She  was  at  the  threshold  of  her  life  —  likely 
to  be  a  poor  thing  enough  and  hedged  with 
limitations,  but  it  had  space  for  all  the  throbs 
of  living,  for  all  there  is  of  bliss  and  woe. 

The  man  glanced  back  at  her  as  he  spoke. 

"  Jes'  set  a-top  thar,  Rosamondy ;  set  right 
still  an'  stiddy,  leetle  darter.  I  hev  got  a 
word  or  two  ter  pass  with  these  folkses. 


14   THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

Howdy !  Howdy !  Strangers !  Do  you-uns 
know  whar  old  man  Bin  well  hev  moved  ter 
hyar-abouts?  I  stopped  at  his  house  a  piece 
back,  an'  thar  war  n't  nobody  thar,  'pears  like ; 
chimbly  tore  down  ;  nare  door  in  the  cabin  ; 
empty.'" 

He  had  a  strained  rasping  voice ;  his  tone 
was  not  far  from  tears. 

The  two  boys  looked  at  one  another. 
"  Old  man  Bin  well "  was  Ancient  History  to 
them  —  like  Csesar  or  Hannibal  to  boys  of 
wider  culture. 

"  Him  ?  he 's  dead,"  they  said  together, 
slowly  producing  the  recollection. 

"  I  war  'feared  so,"  said  the  stranger. 
"  An'  whar 's  'Liza  Binwell,  an'  Aleck  ?  " 

These  were  more  modern.  "  Waal  —  her," 
said  Ike,  "  I  hev  hearn  tell  ez  how  she  mer- 
ried  a  man  ez  kem  hyar  in  the  war-times 
along  o'  the  Texas  Rangers  ;  an'  he  seen  her 
then,  an'  kem  arter  her  when  the  fightin'  war 
over.  I  disremember  his  name.  An'  he  per 
suaded  Aleck  an'  his  fambly  ter  move  with 
them  ter  Texas." 

The  man  nodded  his  head  in  melancholy 
reception  of  the  facts. 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.   15 

"  They  be  my  brother  an'  sister,"  he  said 
drearily.  "I  hain't  hearn  nothin'  'bout'n  'em 
fur  a  long  time.  But  when  we-uns  lef  cousin 
Zeke  Tynes's  this  rnornin'  —  we  bided  thar 
las'  night  —  an'  started  fur  Tanglefoot  Cove, 
he  'lowed  they  war  hyar  yit.  I  counted  on 
stayin'  with  'em  this  winter.  Who  's  a-livin' 
hyar-abouts  now  ez  mought  be  minded  ter  let 
us  bide  with  'em  fur  ter-night  ?  " 

The  boys  prompting  each  other,  mentioned 
the  names  of  the  few  families  in  the  cove. 
The  stranger's  face  fell  as  he  listened.  There 
was  no  house  nearer  than  three  or  four  miles, 
and  the  gaunt  and  forlorn  old  ox  was  not  a 
beast  of  unrivaled  speed.  The  man  looked 
up  doubtfully  at  the  ragged  edges  of  a  black 
cloud,  barely  showing  above  the  mountain 
summits,  but  definitely  in  motion  before  a 
wind  that  was  beginning  to  surge  in  the  up 
per  regions  of  the  air,  although  it  hardly 
swayed  the  tops  of  the  trees  on  Keedon 
Bluffs.  The  evening  had  stormy  premoni 
tions,  despite  the  exquisite  clearness  of  the 
western  sky. 

"  I  'm  'feared  I  '11  hev  ter  feed  an'  water 


16   THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

the  beastis,  else  he  won't  hold  out  so  fur,"  he 
half  soliloquized,  looking  at  the  ox,  drowsing 
between  the  shafts. 

Then  his  attention  reverted  to  the  boys. 

"  Thanky,  strangers,  thanky  fur  tellin'  me. 
I  dunno  ye,  ye  see,  but  I  war  born  an'  bred 
hyar-abouts.  Thanky.  If  thar  's  enny  favior 
I  kin  do  fur  you-uns  lemme  know.  Fish- 
in'  ?  "  he  inquired  suddenly. 

Skimpy  colored.  To  be  asked  if  he  were 
fishing  from  the  great  heights  of  Keedon 
Bluffs  savored  of  ridicule. 

"  How  could  we  fish  from  sech  a  place  ez 
this  ?  "  he  said  a  trifle  gruffly. 

"  Sure  enough  !  Sure  enough  !  I  hed  fur- 
got  how  high  't  war,"  and  the  stranger  came 
up  and  peered  with  them  over  the  river.  "  I 
ain't  seen  this  spot  fur  a  good  many  seasons, 
folkses,"  he  said,  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  cavi 
ties  of  the  great  cliffs  across  the  bend.  The 
cow  was  munching  the  half-withered  grass 
by  the  roadside ;  the  dogs  laid  their  tired 
bones  down  among  the  fallen  leaves  and  went 
to  sleep ;  Rosamond  on  her  throne  among  the 
household  goods  sat  in  the  red  after-glow  of 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.   17 

the  sunset,  all  flushed  and  gilded,  and  swung 
one  plump  bare  foot,  protruding  its  pink  dim 
ples  from  beneath  her  blue  checked  home 
spun  dress,  and  planted  the  other  foot  reck 
lessly  upon  her  discarded  dappled  calico  sun- 
bonnet  which  she  suffered  to  lie  among  the 
quilts. 

"  I  tell  ye  what,"  he  added,  still  looking 
about  at  the  darkling  forests,  at  the  swift 
current  below  the  stern  grim  cliffs,  at  the 
continuous  shifting  shimmer  reflected  upon 
the  upper  arch  of  the  hollows,  "  you-uns  hev 
got  mo'  resky  'n  ever  I  be,  ter  bide  'roun' 
this  hyar  spot  when  it  begins  ter  be  cleverly 
dark." 

Both  boys  looked  quickly  at  him. 

"  Hain't  ye  hearn  what  the  old  folks  tells 
'bout  them  hollows  in  the  rock  ?  " 

"  Naw !  "  they  exclaimed  together. 

Skirnpy's  eyes  were  distended.  He  felt  a 
sudden  chilly  thrill.  Ike,  although  as  super 
stitious  as  Skimpy,  experienced  an  incredu 
lity  before  he  even  heard  what  this  man  had 
to  say. 

"  Waal,"  resumed  the  stranger,  and  he  low- 


18       THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

ered  his  voice,  "  the  old  folks  'low  ez  the 
witches  lie  thar  in  the  daytime  —  ye  know 
they  never  die  —  an'  the  yearth  grants  'em 
no  other  place  in  the  day,  so  they  takes  ter 
the  hollows  in  the  rock.  An'  thar  they  keeps 
comp'ny  with  sech  harnts  ez  air  minded  fur 
harm  ter  humans  —  folks  ez  hev  been  hung 
an'  sech.  An'  then  in  the  eveniu'-time  they 
all  swarms  out  tergether." 

Skimpy  glanced  over  his  shoulder.  It  was 
doubtless  his  fancy,  but  the  foolish  boy 
thought  he  saw  a  black  head  thrust  suddenly 
out  of  one  of  the  hollows  and  as  suddenly 
withdrawn. 

Now  Skimpy  was  afraid  of  nothing  that 
went  about  in  the  daytime,  and  indeed  of 
nothing  human  and  mortal.  Witches,  how 
ever,  were,  he  felt,  of  doubtful  destiny  and 
origin,  malevolent  in  character,  and  he  had  a 
vaguely  frightful  idea  concerning  their  phys 
iognomy  and  form.  He  revolted  at  the  pros 
pect  of  a  closer  acquaintance. 

"  Kem  on,  Ike,"  he  said  hastily,  clutching 
his  friend's  sleeve,  "  let 's  go  home."  And 
he  peered  fearfully  about  in  the  closing  dusk. 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.   19 

But  Ike  was  steadily  studying  the  stran 
ger's  face,  and  the  man  looked  at  him  though 
he  addressed  Skimpy. 

"  Yes ;  it 's  better  ter  be  away  from  hyar 
betimes.  They  air  special  active  in  the  full 
o'  the  moon." 

It  had  risen  before  the  sun  had  set,  and 
ever  and  again,  from  fleecy  spaces  amongst 
the  ranks  of  the  dark  clouds,  its  yellow  lus 
tre  streamed  forth  in  myriads  of  fine  fibrous 
lines  slanting  upon  the  tumultuous  palpita 
ting  purple  vapors  massed  about  it.  Some 
times  a  rift  disclosed  its  full  splendor  as  it 
rode  supreme  in  the  midst  of  the  legions  of 
the  storm. 

"  But  them  witches  an'  sech  air  in  them 
holes  all  day  an'  ef  ennybody  war  sech  a  fool  ez 
ter  go  meddlin'  with  'em,  ef  so  be  they  could 
git  down  thar  ennywise  —  they  'd  ketch  it !  " 

He  shook  his  head  in  a  way  that  promised 
horrors. 

"  What  would  they  do  ter  'em  ?  "  asked 
the  morbidly  fascinated  Skimpy.  He  dared 
not  look  over  his  shoulder  now. 

The  narrator  was  forced  to  specify,  "  Stran 
gle  'em." 


20       THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

Skimpy  shuddered,  but  Ike  was  ready  to 
laugh  outright.  He  stared  at  the  speaker  as 
if  he  found  him  far  more  queer  than  his 
story. 

"Ye  'member  old  man  Hobbs?"  said  the 
stranger  suddenly. 

"  I  hearn  my  dad  tell  'bout'n  him,"  re 
turned  Ike.  "  Old  man  Hobbs  said  he 
walked  off'n  the  Bluffs  through  bein'  drunk 
an'  fell  inter  the  river — though  ez  he  war 
picked  up  alive  folks  b'lieved  he  never  fell 
off'n  the  Bluffs,  but  jes'  said  so,  bein'  drunk 
an'  foolish." 

"  Naw,  it 's  a  fac',"  said  the  stranger,  as  if 
he  knew  all  about  it.  "  The  witches  got  ter 
clawin'  an'  draggin'  of  him,  an'  they  drug 
him  in  the  water,  bein'  ez  he  war  a-foolin' 
roun'  them  hollows  an'  this  hyar  spot  giner- 
ally." 

"Oh,  I'm  goin',"  cried  Skimpy;  then  as 
he  started  off,  the  idea  of  being  alone  in  the 
great  woods,  with  the  night  settling  down, 
came  upon  him  with  overwhelming  terror, 
and  he  renewed  his  pleas  to  Ike.  "  Kem  on, 
Ike.  We-uns  hev  been  hyar  long  enough." 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.   21 

"  Oh,  shet  up,"  cried  Ike  roughly.  "  The 
witches  ain't  goin'  ter  strangle  ye  ez  long  ez 
ye  hev  got  me  alongside  ter  pertect  ye." 

He  wanted  to  hear  more  of  what  this  man 
had  to  say,  for  he  placed  a  different  interpre 
tation  upon  his  words.  But  Rosamond  had 
lifted  her  voice,  and  seeing  that  her  father 
was  preparing  to  start  anew  on  their  forlorn 
journeying  was  insisting  on  a  change  in  the 
arrangement. 

"  I  wants  ye  ter  let  the  calf  ride  ! "  she 
cried  in  her  vibrating  musical  treble.  "  I 
wants  the  calf  ter  ri-ride  !  " 

The  calf  added  its  voice  to  hers,  and 
bleated  as  it  ran  along  behind.  It  had  evi 
dently  come  far  and  was  travel-worn. 

"  I  wants  the  calf  ter  ride  wif  me  I "  she 
cried  again,  with  an  imperious  squeal  upon 
the  last  syllable. 

"  The  calf  can't  ride,  Rosamondy,"  the  man 
said,  in  gentlest  expostulation.  "  He  's  too 
heavy  fur  the  steer  —  pore  steer." 

"  Naw,  pore  calf  !  "  cried  Rosamondy,  and 
burst  into  tearful  rage. 

"  Ah,  Rosamondy,  ain't  ye  'shamed  ter  be 


22       THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

sech  a  bad  leetle  gal  ?  Ain't  ye  'feared  them 
boys  '11  go  off  an'  tell  ev'ybody  what  a  bad 
leetle  gal  ye  be  !  " 

But  Rosamond  evidently  did  not  care  how 
far  and  wide  they  published  her  "  badness," 
and  after  the  boys  had  turned  off  into  the 
woods,  leaving  the  wagon  creaking  along  the 
road  with  the  ox  between  the  shafts,  and  the 
man  driving  the  cow  in  advance,  they  still 
heard  the  piteous  bleats  of  the  little  calf 
trotting  behind,  and  Rosamondy's  insistent 
squeal,  "  I  wants  the  calf  ter  ride  wif  me  1 " 

In  the  dense  woods  the  darkness  was 
deeper  ;  indeed  they  might  only  know  that 
as  yet  it  was  not  night  by  seeing  vaguely  the 
burly  forms  of  the  great  boles  close  at  hand. 
The  shadowy  interlacing  boughs  above  their 
heads  merged  indistinguisbably  into  the  mass 
of  foliage.  Every  sound  was  startlingly  loud 
and  in  the  nature  of  an  interruption  of  some 
sylvan  meditation.  The  rustle  of  their  feet 
in  the  crisp  fallen  leaves  seemed  peculiarly 
sibilant,  and  more  than  once  suggested  a  pur 
suer.  Skimpy  looked  hastily  over  his  shoul 
der,  —  only  the  closing  obscurity  that  baffled 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.      23 

his  vision.  A  gust  of  wind  swept  through 
the  woods  rousing  a  thousand  weird  utter 
ances  of  bough,  and  leaf,  and  rock,  and  hol 
low,  and  died  away  again  into  the  solemn 
silence. 

Skimpy  quickened  his  pace.  "  Kem  on, 
Ike,"  he  muttered,  and  started  at  the  sound 
of  his  own  voice. 

Suddenly  Ike  Guyther,  without  a  word  of 
warning,  turned  about  and  began  to  retrace 
his  way. 

"  Whar  ye  bound  fur  ?  "  cried  Skimpy,  lay 
ing  hold  on  his  arm  and  striving  to  keep  him 
back. 

"  Bound  fur  the  Bluffs,"  said  Ike. 
"  'T  won't  take  we-uns  long.  I  jes'  wanter 
sati'fy  myself  whether  that  thar  man  air  too 
'feard  o'  witches  ter  water  an'  feed  his  steer 
at  that  thar  spring  'mongst  the  rocks  nigh 
Keedon  Bluffs."  . 

"  We-uns  !  "  cried  Skimpy.  "  I  tell  ye 
now,  I  'd  be  palsied  in  every  toe  an'  toe-nail 
too  'fore  I  'd  go  a  inch." 

"  Waal,  I  '11  ketch  up  with  ye,"  said  Ike. 

Skimpy  made   an  effort  to  hold  him,  but 


24       THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

the  stronger  boy  pulled  easily  away  from 
him  and  ran.  A  whirl  of  the  dry  leaves,  a 
whisking  sound,  and  he  was  lost  among  the 
trees. 

He  did  not  keep  this  speed.  He  had  slack 
ened  his  pace  to  a  walk  before  he  emerged 
upon  the  road  that  ran  between  the  verge  of 
the  bluffs  and  the  woods.  It  seemed  much 
earlier  now,  for  here  was  presented  the  defi 
nite  aspect  of  the  evening  instead  of  the  un 
certain  twilight  of  the  forest.  In  the  faint 
blue  regions  of  the  zenith  still  loitered  gauzy 
roseate  reflections  of  the  gorgeous  sunset,  not 
yet  overspread  by  the  black  cloud  gradually 
advancing  up  the  vast  spaces  of  the  heavens. 
The  river,  in  its  cliff-bound  channel,  caught 
here  and  there  a  glittering  moonbeam  on  its 
lustrous  dark  current.  The  amber  tints  of 
the  western  sky  shaded  into  a  pallid  green 
above  the  duskily  purple  mountains.  A 
pearl -colored  mist,  most  vaguely  visible, 
lurked  in  the  depths  of  the  cove. 

Suddenly  the  rocks  by  the  roadside  stood 
distinct  and  ruddy  in  a  broad  flickering  red 
flare ;  there  were  moving  figures,  grotesque 


TEE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.       25 

elongated  shadows,  among  the  trees.  Ike 
Guyther  stopped  short,  with  a  sudden  dread 
of  the  witches  of  Keedon  Bluffs  trembling 
within  him.  Then,  for  he  was  stout-hearted, 
he  ventured  to  creep  along  a  few  steps  fur 
ther.  There  under  the  boughs  of  the  pines 
and  the  scarlet  oaks  and  the  yellow  hickory 
trees  a  fire  of  pine  knots  flamed,  throwing 
hilarious  sparks  and  frisking  smoke  high  into 
the  melancholy  white  mists  gathering  in  the 
woods  ;  and  grouped  about  it  —  not  witches 
nor  harnts  —  but  the  humble  travelers  eat 
ing  their  supper  by  the  wayside.  Ike  recog 
nized  the  clumsy  cart  in  the  shadowy  back 
ground  ;  the  ox,  out  of  the  shafts,  now 
munching  his  well-earned  feed  ;  the  cow 
lying  on  the  ground  licking  the  head  of  her 
calf.  And  sitting  by  the  fire  with  her  yellow 
hair  glittering,  her  face  illumined  by  the 
blaze,  her  pink  feet  presented  to  the  warmth, 
was  Rosamondy,  commenting  gravely  as  her 
father  broiled  a  bit  of  bacon  on  the  coals  and 
deftly  constructed  an  ash -cake.  The  dogs 
too  sat  beside  the  fire,  all  upright  and  wide 
awake,  and  with  an  alert  interest  in  the  pro- 


26       THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

ceedings.  Now  and  then  as  the  man  turned 
the  meat  and  the  savory  odor  would  rise,  one 
of  them  would  twist  his  head  admiringly 
askew  and  lick  his  chops  in  anticipation. 

The  little  girl  talked  continuously,  her 
babyish  voice  clear  on  the  still  air,  and  the 
man  listened  and  affected  amazement  when 
she  thought  she  was  astonishing  him,  and 
laughed  mightily  when  she  laughed,  and 
agreed  punctiliously  with  whatever  she  might 
say.  But  indeed  she  seemed  a  person  who 
would  tolerate  little  contradiction. 

The  picture  vanished  suddenly  as  Ike  Guy- 
ther  turned  back  into  the  sombre  depths  of 
the  woods. 

"  Waal,  sir  !  "  said  the  shrewd  young  fel 
low  to  himself,  "  whoever  b'lieves  ez  witches 
an'  harnts  swarm  out  'n  them  hollows  in  the 
night  times  ter  strangle  folks  ez  be  nigh  by, 
the  man  ez  stops  ter  cook  his  supper  a-top 
o'  the  Bluffs  —  don't.  An'  that  air  a  true 
word." 

The  more  he  reflected  upon  the  circum 
stance,  as  he  took  his  way  through  the  woods 
to  rejoin  Skimpy,  the  more  he  felt  sure  that 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.   27 

this  stranger  had  overheard  his  proposal  to 
climb  down  to  those  hollows,  and  had  some 
purpose  to  serve  in  frightening  him  away 
from  the  cavities  in  the  cliffs. 

Still  pondering  upon  this  mystery  he  looked 
back  once  after  he  and  Skimpy  had  reached 
the  levels  of  Tanglefoot  Cove.  The  advan 
cing  cloud  still  surged  over  the  summit  of  the 
range,  throwing  its  darkling  shadows  far 
down  the  steeps.  In  the  mingled  light  of  the 
dying  day  and  the  fitful  gleam  of  the  moon 
he  could  yet  distinguish  the  stern  grim  crags, 
and  below,  on  the  slope  where  the  grassy 
road  wound  in  serpentine  convolutions,  he 
saw  the  cart  with  the  little  girl  once  more 
perched  high,  the  ox  between  the  shafts,  the 
man  driving  the  cow,  the  dogs  and  the  calf 
trotting  in  the  rear  —  all  the  little  procession 
on  the  way  again  to  seek  shelter  in  some  hos 
pitable  farmer's  cabin.  And  thus  they  fared 
down  the  rugged  mountain  ways  into  the 
future  of  Tanglefoot  Cove. 


II. 

WHEN  clouds  gather  over  Tanglefoot  Cove, 
and  storms  burst  on  the  mountain  slopes,  the 
sounds  of  the  tempest  are  redoubled  by  the 
echoes  of  the  crags,  trumpeting  anew  the 
challenge  of  the  wind  and  reiterating  the  slo 
gan  of  the  thunder.  For  begirt  on  every 
side  by  clifty  ranges  the  secluded  valley  lies. 
Ike's  mother,  listening  to  the  turmoil  of  the 
powers  of  the  air  and  the  sinister  response  of 
the  powers  of  the  earth,  as  the  surly  night 
closed  in,  waited  with  anxiety  for  the  boy's 
return,  and  welcomed  him  with  a  brightening 
face  as  he  entered. 

A  great  fire  flared  on  the  hearth,  illumin 
ing  the  ill-laid  puncheon  floor  ;  the  high  bed 
with  its  gayly  tinted  quilts;  the  warping 
bars ;  the  spinning-wheel ;  the  guns  upon 
their  racks  of  deer-antlers  ;  the  strings  of  red 
peppers,  swaying  overhead ;  the  ladder  lead- 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.   29 

ing  up  to  the  shadowy  regions  of  the  roof- 
room  through  a  black  hole  in  the  ceiling. 
The  fire-light  even  revealed  in  a  dusky  nook 
a  rude  box  on  rockers  —  which  had  cradled 
in  turn  these  stalwart  soldiers,  and  later  Ike, 
himself  —  and,  under  a  low  shelf  in  the  cor 
ner,  a  tiny  empty  chair. 

The  wind  rushed  down  the  chimney,  and 
every  cranny  piped  a  shrill  fife-like  note,  and 
the  thunder  rolled. 

"  I  dunno  when  I  ever  hev  seen  sech  a  on- 
expected  storm,"  said  Ike's  father  as  he  hung 
up  the  ox-yoke  on  the  wall,  having  turned  out 
the  team  from  his  wagon. 

"T' would  n't  s'prise  me  none,"  said  aunt 
Jemima,  "ef  'twar  jes'  a  big  blow  ez  tore 
down  the  fodder-stack  an'  rooted  up  yer  or- 
cherd'  an'  never  gin  ye  nare  drop  o'  rain  fur 
the  drought ;  "  she  cast  an  almost  reprehen- 
sive  glance  upon  him,  as  if  it  were  through 
his  neglect  that  he  was  threatened  with  these 
elemental  disasters. 

"  Waal,"  he  retorted,  "  I  ain't  settin'  my 
self  ter  fault  the  Lord's  weather.  An'  my 
immortal  hopes  ain't  anchored  in  a  fodder- 


30   THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

stack,  nuther  in  the  orcherd.  An'  tbar  's  no 
dispensation  ez  kin  happen  ez  I  ain't  in  an' 
about  able  ter  stan'." 

Even  aunt  Jemima  was  rather  taken  aback 
by  this  sturdy  defiance  of  fate.  She  had  noth 
ing  to  say,  which  was  rather  rare,  for  she 
had  given  most  of  her  declining  years  to  ar 
gument,  and  much  practice  had  developed 
her  natural  resources  of  contradiction,  which 
were  originally  great.  As  Ike's  father  was 
himself  testy  and  dogmatic,  and  the  blind 
man  often  proclaimed  that  he  took  "nuthin' 
off'n  nobody,"  the  family  might  have  been 
divided  by  dissension  were  it  not  for  the  pla 
cid  temperament  of  Ike's  mother.  She  re 
ceived  no  credit,  however,  for  —  as  people  of 
ten  observed  —  she  was  not  born  a  Guyther 
and  had  "  no  call  to  be  high-strung  an'  speri- 
ted."  She  had  been  a  great  beauty  in  her 
girlhood  and  had  had  lovers  by  the  score,  but 
care  and  age  and  poverty  had  bereft  her  of 
her  personal  charms,  and  she  had  neither  cul 
ture  nor  grace  of  manner  to  fill  the  breach. 
Her  hard  experience  of  life,  however,  had 
failed  to  sour  her  temper,  and  her  placidity 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.   31 

had  something  of  the  buoyancy  of  youth,  as 
she  often  declared,  "  It  '11  be  all  the  same  a 
hundred  year  from  now." 

a 'Pears  like  ter  me  't  won't  blow  that  hard," 
she  remarked  as  she  stirred  the  corn-meal 
batter  in  a  wooden  bowl,  "  the  wind  don't 
fool  much  with  our  orcherd  nohow." 

"  I  'd  ruther  hev  the  wind  'n,  no  rain,"  said 
aunt  Jemima,  plaintively. 

"  I  'm  a-thinkin'  we  '11  git  rain  too,  jes'  'bout 
enough.  Yellimints  don't  neglec'  us  noways 
ez  I  kin  see.  Seedtime  an'  harvest  shell  never 
fail"  — 

"  Kems  mighty  nigh  it,  wunst  in  a  while," 
said  aunt  Jemima,  shaking  her  head.  "  Ef 
ye  hed  enny  jedgment  an'  forecast,  M'ria,  ye  'd 
look  fur  troubles  ahead  like  them  ye  hev 
seen." 

There  was  a  shadow  on  the  wasted  placid 
face  under  Mrs.  Guyther's  sunbonnet  as  she 
knelt  to  put  the  potatoes  with  their  jackets 
on  in  the  ashes  to  roast. 

"  Waal  —  let  troubles  go  down  the  road.  I 
would  n't  hev  liked  thar  looks  no  better 
through  viewin'  'em  'fore  I  got  ter  'em.  I 


32       THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

ain't  a-goin'  ter  turn  roun'  now  ter  see  ag'in 
how  awful  they  war  whenst  they  war  a-facin' 
me.  Let  troubles  go  down  the  road." 

And  so  she  covered  the  potatoes  while  aunt 
Jemima  knit  off  another  row. 

The  next  moment  both  were  besprinkled 
with  ashes ;  the  chimney-place  seemed  full  of 
a  vivid  white  light  never  kindled  on  a  hearth 
stone  ;  there  was  a  frightful  crack  of  thunder, 
then  it  seemed  to  roll  upon  the  roof,  and  the 
cabin  rocked  with  the  fierce  assaults  of  the 
wind. 

"  That  thar  shot  war  aimed  p'int  blank," 
said  the  blind  artillery-man,  thrusting  his 
hands  deeper  in  his  pockets,  and  stretching 
out  his  long  legs,  booted  to  the  knee.  His 
gray  hair  had  flakes  of  the  white  ashes  scat 
tered  upon  it. 

"  Suthin'  mus'  hev  been  struck  right  hyar 
in  the  door-yard,"  said  aunt  Jemima.  She 
had  laid  down  her  knitting  with  a  sort  of 
affronted  and  expostulatory  air.  "  I  '11  be 
bound  it 's  the  martin-house." 

"  I  '11  be  bound  it 's  nuthin'  we  want,"  said 
Mrs.  Guyther. 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.   33 

There  was  a  hesitating  drop,  another,  upon 
the  clap-boards  that  roofed  the  house;  then 
came  the  heavy  down-pour  of  the  rain,  the  re 
newed  gusts  of  the  wind,  and  amidst  it  all  a 
husky  cry. 

They  turned  and  looked  at  one  another. 
Then  Hiram  Guyther  lifted  the  latch.  The 
opening  door  let  in  the  moist,  melancholy  air 
of  the  stormy  evening  that  seemed  to  saturate 
the  room  in  pervading  it.  A  crouching  figure, 
the  sombre  clouds,  the  slanting  lines  of  rain, 
the  tossing  dark  woods,  were  barely  visible 
without,  until  a  sudden,  blue  forked  flash  of 
lightning  played  through  this  dusky  landscape 
of  grays  and  browns.  As  it  broadened  into  a 
diffusive  red  flare,  it  showed  an  ox  with  low- 
hanging  horns  between  the  shafts  of  a  queer 
little  cart,  piled  high  with  household  goods. 
Among  them  half  smothered  in  the  quilts  — 
wound  tightly  about  her  shoulders  —  appeared 
the  yellow  head,  and  pink  face,  and  big,  star 
tled  gray  eyes  of  a  little  girl.  It  was  only  for 
a  moment  that  this  picture  was  presented, 
then  it  faded  away  to  the  dark  monotony  of 
the  shapeless  shadows  of  the  woods  ;  and  as 


34       THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

Ike  went  to  the  door  he  heard  the  drawling 
voice  of  the  man  he  had  seen  at  Keedon  Bluffs 
asking  Hiram  Guyther  for  shelter  for  the 
night. 

"  We-uns  hev  been  travelin'  an'  hoped  ter 
git  settled  fur  the  winter  'fore  enny  sech 
weather  ez  this  lit  onto  us." 

"  Kem  in,  traveler  !  Ye  air  hearty  wel 
come  ef  ye  kin  put  up  with  sech  ez  we-uns 
kin  gin  ye,"  the  hospitable  mountaineer 
drawled  sonorously,  raising  his  voice  that  it 
might  be  heard  above  the  blast. 

"  We  '11  all  hev  pleurisy,  though,  ef  ye  don't 
shet  that  thar  door,  an'  keep  it  shet,"  mut 
tered  aunt  Jemima,  in  her  half  articulate  un 
dertone. 

She  was  silent  the  next  moment,  for  there 
was  slowly  corning  into  the  room  —  nay,  into 
the  grim  heart  of  aunt  Jemima  —  a  new 
power  in  her  life.  A  yellow-topped,  cylindri 
cal  bundle,  much  like  a  silking  ear  of  corn, 
was  set  on  end  in  the  middle  of  the  puncheon 
floor,  and  as  the  strange  man  unwrapped  the 
parti  -  colored  quilts  from  about  it,  there 
stepped  forth,  golden-haired,  ragged,  smiling, 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.   35 

with  one  finger  between  her  small  and  jagged 
teeth,  with  dimples  that  graced  the  poverty 
and  atoned  for  the  dirt,  a  little  girl,  looking 
quaintly  askance  at  the  group  about  the  fire, 
and  making  straight  for  the  little  chair  under 
the  shelf.  She  did  not  move  it.  She  sat 
there,  under  the  shelf,  smiling  and  pink  and 
affectedly  shy. 

Aunt  Jemima  stared  over  her  spectacles. 
She  too  smiled  as  her  eyes  met  the  child's  — 
a  grim  demonstration.  Her  features  adapted 
themselves  to  it  reluctantly  as  if  they  were 
not  used  to  it. 

"  Kem  up  by  the  fire,  child,"  she  said. 

But  the  little  girl  sat  still  under  the  shelf. 

"  Warm  yer  feet !  "  aunt  Jemima  further 
sought  to  beguile  her. 

The  little  guest's  pleased  smile  took  on  the 
proportions  of  an  ecstatic  grin,  but  she  only 
settled  herself  more  comfortably  in  the  small 
chair  under  the  shelf. 

Aunt  Jemima,  tall,  bent,  raw-boned,  rose 
and  approached  the  little  girl  with  a  serious 
ness  that  might  have  seemed  formidable.  She 
looked  up  with  her  big  gray  eyes  all  shining 


36   THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

in  the  firelight,  but  did  not  offer  to  retreat. 
She  only  clutched  fast  the  arms  of  the  little 
chair  that  had  taken  her  delighted  fancy,  and 
since  she  evidently  would  not  leave  it  for  a 
moment,  the  old  woman  pulled  the  chair,  child 
and  all,  in  front  of  the  fire,  into  the  full  genial 
radiance  of  the  blazing  hickory  logs.  Ike  and 
his  mother  and  the  hounds  looked  on  at  this 
proceeding,  and  one  of  the  dogs,  following 
close  after  the  chair  when  it  was  dragged  over 
the  floor,  squeaked  in  a  low-spirited  key  and 
wheezed  and  licked  aunt  Jemima's  hand,  as  it 
grasped  the  knob,  seeking  to  call  attention  to 
himself.  "Now  ain't  ye  a  nice  one,  a-goin' 
on  four  legs  an'  switchin'  a  tail  a-hint  ye.  an' 
yit  ondertakin'  ter  be  ez  jealous  ez  folks," 
she  admonished  him,  and  he  frisked  a  little, 
glad  to  be  spoken  to  on  any  terms,  and  sat 
down  between  her  and  the  little  girl,  who  still 
clutched  the  arms  of  the  tiny  chair. 

"  Waal  now,  it  air  a  plumb  shame  fur  her 
ter  be  bar'foot  this  weather,"  said  aunt  Je 
mima,  contemplating  the  little  guest. 

The  old  woman  was  abashed  when  she 
glanced  up  and  saw  the  child's  companion, 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.   37 

who,  with  Hiram  Guyther,  had  just  returned 
from  the  task  of  stabling  the  ox  and  shelter- 
ing  the  wagon,  for  she  had  not  intended  that 
the  stranger  should  overhear  this  reflection. 

"  I  know  that,"  he  drawled  in  a  desolate 
low-spirited  cadence,  his  eyes  blinking  in  the 
light  of  a  tallow  dip  that  Mrs.  Guyther  had 
set  on  the  mantel-piece,  and  seeking  with 
covert  curiosity  to  distinguish  the  members 
of  the  group.  He  paused  suddenly,  for  at  the 
sound  of  his  voice  the  blind  man  abruptly 
rose  to  his  feet  and  stretched  out  his  arms 
gropingly.  "  Who  —  who  ?  "  he  stuttered,  as 
if  his  speech  were  failing  him  —  "  who  be 
this  ez  hev  kem  hyar  ter-night?"  He  passed 
his  hands  angrily  across  his  eyes  —  "  Ain  't  it 
Jerry  Binwell  ?  " 

Blind  as  he  was,  he  was  the  first  to  recog 
nize  the  newcomer  with  that  sharpening  of  the 
remaining  senses  which  seeks  to  compensate 
for  the  loss  of  one.  But  indeed  Jerry  Binwell 
had  outwardly  changed  beyond  recognition  in 
the  twenty  years  since  they  had  last  seen  him, 
when  he  and  Abner  were  mere  boys  in  the 
Cove,  and  had  run  off  together  to  join  the 
Southern  army. 


38       THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

Bin  well  took  a  step  toward  the  door  as  if 
he  regretted  his  entrance  and  wished  that  he 
still  might  go. 

"  What  hev  gin  ye  the  insurance  ter  kera 
a-nigh  me  !  "  Abner  cried  angrily,  still  reach 
ing  out  with  hands  that  were  far  enough  from 
what  they  sought  to  clutch.  The  child,  in 
her  little  chair  at  his  feet,  gazed  up  with  awe. 
"  Arter  all  ye  done  in  camp,  a-lyin'  an'  a-de- 
ludin'  me ;  an'  then  slanderin'  an'  backbitin' 
me  ter  the  off  'cers,  an'  men ;  an'  every  leetle 
caper  I  cut,  gittin'  me  laid  by  the  heels  fur  it ; 
an'  ev'ry  time  ye  got  in  a  scrape,  puttin'  the 
blame  on  me.  An'  at  last  —  at  last  "  —  he 
cried,  raising  his  voice  and  smiting  his  hands 
together  as  if  overborne  anew  by  the  despair 
and  scorn  of  it,  "  whenst  we  war  flanked  by 
the  Feds  ye  deserted !  An'  ye  gin  '  em  the 
word  how  ter  surround  our  battery !  An' 
cannon,  an'  cannoneers,  an'  horses,  an'  cais 
sons,  an'  battery-wagon,  all  war  captured  ! 
That  war  yer  sheer  o'  the  fight." 

He  paused  for  a  moment.  Then  he  took 
a  step  forward,  his  stalwart,  soldierly  figure 
erect,  his  face  flushed,  his  hand  pointing  to 
ward  the  door. 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.       39 

"  G  'long  !  "  he  said  roughly.  "  Go  out. 
Haffen  o'  this  house  is  mine.  An'  ye  sha'n't 
bide  in  it  one  minute.  I  hev  hed  enough  of 
ye  an'  yer  ways.  Go  out !  " 

"  It 's  a  plumb  harricane  out'n  doors,  Ab,  " 
Mrs.  Guyther  pleaded  timidly.  "  Won't  ye  — 
won't  ye  jes'  let  him  bide  till  the  storm 's 
over?" 


III. 

THE  lightning  flashed  ;  the  thunder  pealed. 
The  blind  man  lifted  his  head,  listening.  He 
hesitated  between  his  righteous  scorn,  his 
sense  of  injury,  and  the  hospitality  that  was 
the  instinct  of  his  nature.  He  yielded  at  last, 
shamefacedly,  as  to  a  weakness. 

"  Waal,  waal,"  he  said,  in  an  off-hand  cav 
alier  fashion,  "keep  Jerry  dry;  he's  mighty 
val'y'ble.  Good  men  air  sca'ce,  Jerry ;  take 
keer  o'  yerse'f !  " 

He  laughed  sarcastically  and  resumed  his 
chair.  As  he  did  so  his  booted  knee  struck 
against  the  little  girl,  still  staring  at  him 
with  eyes  full  of  wonder. 

"What's  this?"  he  cried  sharply,  his 
nerves  jarring  yet  with  the  excitement.  He 
had  not  before  noticed  her.  "  I  can't  see  !  " 
with  a  shrill  rising  inflection,  as  if  the  afflic 
tion  were  newly  realized. 

A  propitiatory  smile  broke  upon  her  face. 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.      41 

"Jes'  Rosamondy."  Her  voice  vibrated 
through  the  room  —  the  high  quavering  treble 
of  childhood  that  might  have  been  shrill  were 
it  not  so  sweet. 

"  Jerry's  leetle  gal,  "  said  aunt  Jemima. 

"Shucks!  "  he  exclaimed,  contemptuously, 
and  turned  aside. 

"  Set  down,  Rosamondy,"  said  aunt  Jemi 
ma,  assuming  a  grandmotherly  authority. 
"  Set  down  like  a  good  leetle  gal." 

But  Rosamond  was  not  amenable  to  bid 
ding  and  paid  no  heed.  She  had  risen  from 
her  chair  and  stood  by  the  side  of  the  blind 
artillery-man. 

"  Set  down,"  aunt  Jemima  admonished  her 
again.  "  He  can't  see." 

"  Kin  ye  feel  ? "  she  said,  suddenly  laying 
her  dimpled  pink  hand  upon  his.  She  gazed 
up  at  him,  her  eyes  bright  and  soft,  her  lips 
parted,  her  cheek  flushed.  "  Kin  ye  feel  my 
hand?" 

He  looked  surly,  affronted  for  a  moment. 
He  shook  the  light  hand  from  his  own.  It 
fell  upon  his  knee  where  Rosamond  leaned 
her  weight  upon  it.  There  was  a  subtle 


42   THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

change  on  his  face.  In  his  old  debonair 
way  he  drawled,  "  Yes,  I  kin  feel.  What 's 
this?" — he  laid  his  hand  upon  her  hair  — 
*'  Flax,  I  reckon.  Hyar,  Sis'  Jemimy,  hyar  's 
that  flax  ye  war  goin'  ter  hackle.  Mus'  I 
han'  it  over  ter  ye  ?  " 

He  made  a  feint  of  lifting  her  by  her  hair, 
and  she  sank  down  beside  him,  screaming 
with  laughter  till  the  rafters  rang. 

Aunt  Jemima  had  taken  the  sock  from  her 
knitting  needles  and  was  swiftly  putting  on 
the  stitches  for  newly  projected  work. 

"  Lemme  medjure  ye  fur  a  stockin',"  she 
said,  reaching  out  for  the  little  girl.  "  Look 
at  the  stitches  this  child's  stockin'  will  take  ! 
The  fatness  of  her  is  s'prisin'.  An'  ef  Ab 
air  willin',"  she  continued,  "  I  want  Rosa- 
mondy  ter  bide  hyar  till  I  can  knit  her  a 
couple  o'  pair  o'  stockin's  an'  mend  up  her 
clothes." 

"  I  dunno  'bout'n  that,"  said  Jerry  Bin- 
well.  He  had  seated  himself  in  a  chair,  his 
garments  dripping  with  rain,  and  small  pud 
dles  forming  from  them  on  the  floor.  "  I 
dunno  ez  we-uns  kin  bide  enny  arter  the 
rain  's  over." 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.   43 

The  capable  aunt  Jemima  cast  upon  him  a 
glance  which  seemed  to  contrast  his  limp,  for 
lorn,  and  ineffective  personality  with  her  own 
stalwart  moral  value. 

"  I  ain't  talkin'  ter  you-uns,  Jerry,  nor 
thinkin'  'bout  ye,  nuther,"  she  remarked 
slightingly.  "  I  done  said  my  say,"  she  con 
tinued  after  the  manner  of  a  proclamation. 
"  That  thar  child  air  goin'  ter  bide  hyar  till  I 
fix  her  clothes  comfortable — ef  it  takes  me 
a  year."  Then  with  a  recollection  of  her 
brother's  grievance  she  again  added,  "  Ef 
Ab's  willin'." 

The  stocking  was  already  showing  a  ribbed 
top  of  an  admirable  circumference.  Aunt 
Jemima  evidently  felt  a  pride  in  its  propor 
tions  which  was  hardly  decorous. 

Jerry  made  no  reply.  He  looked  disconso 
lately  at  the  fire  from  under  the  brim  of  his 
rain-soaked  hat,  that  now  and  then  contrib 
uted  a  drop  to  his  cheek,  which  thus  bore  a 
tearful  aspect.  Presently  he  broke  the  si 
lence,  speaking  in  a  strained  rasping  voice. 

"  Ef  I  hed  knowed  ez  Ab  held  sech  a  pack 
o'  old  gredges  ag'in  me  I  would  n't  kem  nigh 


44       THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

hyar,*'  —  he  glanced  at  the  stalwart  soldierly 
form  bending  to  the  little  laughing  maiden. 
"  Ab  dunno  what  I  tole  the  en'my  —  he 
warn't  thar.  I  never  tole  the  en'my  nuthin'. 
An'  ennybody  ez  be  captured  kin  be  accused 
o'  desertin'  —  ef  folks  air  so  minded.  I  never 
deserted,  nuther.  An'  sech  gredges  ez  Ab 
hev  got,"  lie  continued,  complainingly,  "  air 
fur  what  I  done,  an'  what  I  ain't  done  whenst 
I  war  nuthin'  but  a  boy." 

Ab  turned  his  imperious  youthful  face  to 
ward  him.  "  Ye  hesh  up  !  "  he  said.  "  Thar 
ain't  no  truce  hyar  fur  you-uns." 

His  attention  reverted  instantly  to  the 
babyish  sorceress  at  his  knee,  who  with  an 
untiring  repetition  and  an  unfailing  delight  in 
the  exercises  would  rise  from  her  chair  and 
gently  touch  his  hand  or  brow  crying  out, 
with  a  joyous  voice  full  of  laughter,  "  Kin 
you-uns  feel  my  hand ! "  Then  he  would 
pinch  her  rosy  cheeks  and  retort  in  a  gruff 
undertone,  "  Kin  you-uns  feel  my  hand !  " 

They  all  behaved,  Ike  thought,  as  if  they 
had  found  something  choice  and  of  rare  value. 
And  if  the  truth  must  be  known,  he  watched 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.   45 

the  scene  with  somewhat  the  same  sentiments 
which  animated  the  old  dogs.  He  shared 
their  sense  of  supersedure,  and  he  noticed  how 
they  whined  and  could  take  comfort  in  no 
spot  about  the  hearth  ;  how  they  would  walk 
around  three  times  and  lie  down  with  a  sigh 
of  renunciation,  to  get  up  suddenly  with  an 
afflicted  wheeze,  and  hunt  about  for  another 
place  where  the  distemper  of  their  jealous 
hearts  might  let  them  find  rest  for  their  lazy 
bones.  They  all  sought  to  intrude  them 
selves  upon  notice.  One  of  them  crept  to 
aunt  Jemima  and  humbly  licked  her  foot,  only 
to  have  that  stout  and  decided  member  deal 
him  a  prompt  rebuke  upon  the  nose,  eliciting 
a  yelp  altogether  out  of  proportion  to  the 
twinge  inflicted  ;  for  the  dog,  since  he  was  not 
going  to  be  petted,  was  glad  to  have  some 
grievance  to  howl  about,  as  he  might  thus 
more  potently  appeal  to  her  sympathy.  The 
hound  that  was  accustomed  to  lead  the  blind 
man  was  even  more  insistent  in  his  manifes 
tations.  He  went  and  rested  his  head  on  his 
master's  knee,  while  the  little  girl  sat  close  in 
her  chair  on  the  opposite  side,  and  lie  wagged 


46   THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

his  tail  and  looked  imploringly  up  in  the 
sightless  face.  But  Rosamondy  leaned  across 
and  patted  the  dog  on  the  head,  and  let  him 
take  her  hand  between  his  teeth,  and  jovially 
pulled  his  ears,  and  finally  caught  him  by 
both,  when  they  lost  their  balance  and  went 
over  on  the  hearth  together  in  a  wild  scram 
ble,  about  to  be  "  scorched  an'  scarified  ter 
death,"  as  aunt  Jemima  said  snappishly  when 
she  rescued  the  little  girl,  who  was  a  very  red 
rose  now,  and  with  a  tender  shake  deposited 
her  once  more  in  her  chair.  Then  the  old 
dog  left  his  master,  and  ran  and  sat  by  her 
and  sought  to  incite  more  gambols. 

But  Ike  was  not  so  easily  reconciled.  He 
did  not  appreciate  the  gratulation  in  this  ac 
quisition  that  pervaded  the  fireside.  She  was 
nothing  but  a  girl,  and  a  little  one  at  that. 
Girls  were  not  uncommon  ;  in  fact  they 
abounded.  They  were  nothing  to  brag  on  — 
Ike  was  young  as  yet.  They  could  n't  do  any 
thing  that  was  worth  while.  To  be  sure  the 
miller's  daughter  was  tolerably  limber,  and 
could  walk  on  the  timbers  of  the  race,  which 
were  high  above  the  stream.  But  how  she 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.   47 

worked  her  arms  above  her  head  to  balance 
herself !  And  she  pretended  to  shoot  once  in 
a  while  ;  he  would  rather  be  the  mark  than 
stand  forty  yards  from  it.  That  was  the  best 
he  could  say  for  her  shooting.  And  she  was 
the  most  valuable  and  desirable  specimen  of 
girlhood  in  his  acquaintance.  He  noted  with 
a  sort  of  wonder  that  his  mother,  through 
sheer  absorption,  let  the  hoe-cake  burn  to  a 
cinder,  and  had  to  make  up  and  bake  one 
anew.  And  when  it  was  at  last  done,  and 
placed  on  the  table  with  the  platter  of  veni 
son  and  corn  dodgers,  he  did  not  admire  par 
ticularly  the  simple  but  vivid  delight  with 
which  Rosamond  greeted  the  prospect  of  sup 
per.  But  even  the  saturnine  Hiram  Guyther 
looked  at  her  with  a  smile  as  she  ran  glibly 
around  the  table,  and  with  her  hands  on  the 
edge  stood  on  her  tiptoes  to  see  what  they 
were  to  have,  and  he  turned  and  said  to  Jerry 
Binwell,  "  She  air  a  powerful  bouncin'  leetle 
gal.  I  reckon  we-uns'll  hev  ter  borry  her, 
Jerry  —  ef,"  recollecting  in  his  turn  that  this 
was  the  child  of  his  blind  brother's  enemy, 
"ef  Ab's  willin'." 


48   THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

The  dawdling  Jerry,  still  staring  disconso 
lately  at  the  fire,  drawled  non-committally, 
"  I  dunno  'bout'n  that." 

Despite  all  her  fervor  of  anticipation,  Rosa- 
mondy  was  not  hungry.  She  knelt  in  her 
chair  at  the  table  to  be  tall  enough  to  partici 
pate  in  the  exercises,  and  her  beaming  pink 
face,  and  her  tossing  yellow  hair,  and  her 
glittering  rows  of  squirrel  teeth  —  she  showed 
a  great  many  of  them  when  she  laughed  — 
irradiated  the  space  between  aunt  Jemima 
and  Ab.  Her  conduct  was  what  Ike  mentally 
designated  as  "  robustious."  She  bounced  up 
and  down ;  she  fed  her  supper  to  the  dogs  ; 
she  let  the  cat  climb  up  the  back  of  her  chair 
and  put  two  paws  on  her  shoulder  among  her 
tangled  yellow  curls  and  lap  milk  out  of  her 
saucer.  She  shrieked  and  bobbed  about  till 
Ike  did  not  know  whether  he  was  eating  hoe- 
cake  or  sawdust.  She  looked  as  if  she  were 
out  in  a  high  wind.  Aunt  Jemima  vainly 
sought  to  make  her  eat  her  supper,  but  the 
displeasure  on  her  face  was  a  feigned  rebuke 
for  which  Rosamond  cared  as  little  as  might 
be.  When  she  concluded  her  defiance  of  all 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.   49 

those  observances,  which  Ike  had  been  taught 
to  respect,  by  taking  her  empty  saucer,  invert 
ing  it  and  perching  it  on  her  tousled  yellow 
pate  after  the  manner  of  a  cap,  Hiram  Guy- 
ther,  the  meal  being  ended,  caught  her  up  de 
lightedly  and  rode  her  to  the  fireplace  on  his 
shoulder. 

"  I  declar',  Jerry,"  he  exclaimed  cordially, 
his  big  bass  voice  booming  amidst  the  trilling 
treble  laughter,  "  we-uns  '11  hev  ter  steal  this 
hyar  leetle  gal  from  ye." 

And  Jerry,  demurely  disconsolate,  replied, 
"  I  reckon  I  could  n't  spare  her,  right  handy." 

Presently  Ike  began  to  notice  that  it  was 
very  difficult  for  Rosamondy  to  get  enough  of 
a  joke.  She  refused  to  descend  from  the 
gigantic  mountaineer's  shoulder,  and  when  he 
tried  to  put  her  down  clung  to  his  collar, 
around  his  neck,  indeed  she  did  not  scruple 
to  clutch  his  hair.  Hiram  Guyther  had  not 
for  a  long  time  taken  such  active  exercise  — 
for  in  this  region  men  of  his  age  assume  all 
the  privileges  and  ailments  of  advanced  years 
—  as  during  the  time  that  he  trotted  up  and 
down  the  floor  with  the  little  girl  on  his 


50       THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

shoulder,  playing  he  was  a  horse.  A  hard 
driver  he  had,  to  be  sure,  and  he  was  obliged 
to  stamp,  and  shy,  and  jump,  and  spurt, 
smartly.  He  did  not  look  quite  sensible  Ike 
thought  in  unfilial  surprise. 

The  whole  domestic  routine  was  upset.  His 
mother  and  aunt  Jemima  had  left  the  clearing 
away  of  the  dishes  and  applied  themselves  to 
pulling  out  the  old  trundle-bed  —  long  ago 
too  short  for  any  of  the  family  —  and  they 
arranged  it  with  loving  care  and  much  pre 
caution  against  the  cold  and  draughts. 

"  I  'm  fairly  feared  she  mought  roll  out,  an' 
git  her  spine  bruk,  or  her  neck,"  said  aunt 
Jemima,  knitting  her  wrinkled  brows  in  af 
fectionate  alarm  as  she  looked  at  the  trundle- 
bed  that  was  about  two  feet  from  the  floor. 

"  I  reckon  not,"  said  Jerry  meekly  as  he 
inoffensively  watched  the  arrangement  of  the 
cosy  nest.  "  She  never  fell  off  '11  the  top  o' 
the  kyart  —  an'  sometimes  she  napped  ef  the 
sun  war  hot." 

"  An'  ye  air  the  only  man  in  Tennessee  ez 
would  hev  sot  the  leetle  critter  up  thar  —  an' 
her  tender  bones  so  easy  ter  break,"  said  aunt 
Jemima,  tartly. 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.   51 

"  Waal,  I  done  the  bes'  I  could  fur  her," 
drawled  Jerry  in  his  tearful  voice,  looking 
harried  and  woeful. 

And  remembering  how  kind  and  gentle  he 
had  seemed  to  his  little  daughter,  Ike  won 
dered  that  he  did  not  feel  sorry  for  Jerry 
when  aunt  Jemima  intimated  that  he  was 
heedless  of  her  safety  and  neglected  her.  But 
watching  the  man  Ike  was  even  more  disap 
proving  of  the  wholesale  adoration  which  the 
family  seemed  disposed  to  lay  at  the  feet  of 
the  little  girl  and  of  her  adoption  into  a  solic 
itude  and  love  that  was  almost  parental.  He 
believed  that  Jerry  had  an  inimical  apprecia 
tion  of  all  the  slighting  consideration  of  him, 
but  offered  no  objection  to  the  authority  they 
had  assumed  over  Rosamondy,  thinking  it  well 
that  she  should  get  all  she  could  out  of  them. 

Her  hilarity  seemed  to  increase  as  the  hour 
waxed  later,  and  when  aunt  Jemima  finally 
took  her,  squirming  and  wriggling  and  shout 
ing  with  laughter,  from  Hiram  Guyther's 
shoulder  and  tucked  her  into  the  trundle-bed 
with  a  red  quilt  drawn  up  close  under  her 
dimpled  white  chin  and  her  long  yellow  hair, 


52   THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

Ike  expected  to  see  the  whole  bed  parapher 
nalia  rise  'up  while  she  resurrected  herself. 

"  Ye  lie  still,  now,"  said  aunt  Jemima 
sternly,  laying  a  hand  upon  each  shoulder. 

A  vague  squirm,  a  sleepy  chuckle,  and  Rosa 
mond  was  eclipsed  for  the  night. 

"  Waal,  that  beats  my  time,"  said  the  grim 
aunt  Jemima  softly.  "  Asleep  a'ready  !  " 

She  sat  down  and  resumed  her  knitting. 
Hiram  Guyther  was  mopping  his  brow  with 
his  handkerchief. 

"  I  feel  like  ez  ef  I  'd  los'  ten  pound  o'  flesh," 
he  said.  And  Ike  thought  it  not  unlikely. 
His  mother  was  washing  the  dishes  ;  the  blind 
man  was  reflectively  smoking  his  pipe ;  the 
dogs  came  and  disposed  themselves  with  re 
proachful  sighs  prominently  about  the  hearth. 
Jerry  Binwell  did  not  share  their  relief.  He 
stirred  uneasily  in  his  chair,  the  legs  grating 
on  the  puncheon  floor,  as  if  he  feared  that  with 
this  distraction  removed  the  more  unfriendly 
attention  of  the  family  might  be  directed  to 
him.  No  one  spoke  for  a  moment,  alf  listening 
to  the  tumult  of  the  rain  on  the  roof;  they 
had  not  before  noticed  that  the  violence  of  the 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.   53 

storm  bad  subsided  into  a  steady  downpour. 
Tben,  after  a  glance  at  tbe  sleeping  face,  pen 
sive  now  and  etbereal  and  sensitive,  framed 
in  tbe  yellow  hair  that  streamed  over  the  red 
quilt,  aunt  Jemima  turned  a  long  calculating 
gaze  on  Jerry  Binwell. 

As  its  result  she  observed  bluntly,  "  Her 
mother  mus'  hev  been  a  mighty  pritty  wo 
man." 

If  the  inference  that  Rosamond  inherited 
none  of  her  beauty  from  her  father  was  appre 
hended  by  Jerry,  he  did  not  resent  it.  His 
eyes  filled  with  tears. 

"  Yes,  she  war,"  he  said,  dropping  his  voice 
to  a  husky  undertone.  "  She  war  a  plumb 
beauty  whenst  she  war  young,  afore  she  tuk 
ter  ailin'." 

Another  pause  ensued.  The  rain  beat  mo 
notonously  ;  the  eaves  dripped  and  dripped ; 
the  trees  on  the  mountain  slopes  swayed,  and 
creaked,  and  crashed  together. 

"It  hev  been  mighty  hard  on  me,"  Jerry 
again  lifted  up  his  dreary  voice,  "  ter  know 
how  bes'  ter  keer  fur  Rosamondy  —  not  bein' 
a  'oman  myself  an'  sech.  I  know  she  's  rag- 


54       THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

ged,  but  I  can't  mend  her  clothes  so  they  '11 
stay;  she  jumps  so  onexpected.  I  can't  sew 
fitteii  fur  much,  though  I  hev  tried  ter  1'arn. 
I  'pear  ter  be  slow  an'  don't  get  much  pur 
chase  on  it.  I  can't  keep  no  stiddy  aim  with 
a  needle,  nuther.  An'  all  the  wimmen  ez  ever 
hed  a  chance  at  Rosamondy  tuk  ter  quar'lin 
over  her,  like  them  done  ez  Sol'mon  hed  ter 
jedge  a-tvvixt,  till  I  war  actially  afeared  she 
be  tore  in  two.  Ever  since  the  war  I  hev  been 
livin'  down  in  Persimmon  Cove  an'  thar  it 
war  I  merried.  'Bout  a  year  ago  Em 'line 
she  died  o'  the  lung  complaint.  An'  then  the 
'tother  wimmen,  her  sister  an'  mother,  they 
quar'led  so  over  Rosamondy,  an'  set  tharse'fs 
so  ter  spite  me  every  which-a-way,  ez  I  jes' 
'lowed  I  'd  fetch  her  up  hyar  fur  this  winter 
ter  bide  with  my  folks  awhile.  An'  I  fund 
'em  all  dead  or  moved  away  — jes'  my  luck  ! 
Rosamondy  an'  me  hev  hed  a  mighty  hard 
time.  I  hev  been  mighty  poor,  never  could 
git  no  good  holt  on  nuthin'.  I  ain't  felt  much 
like  tryin'  noways  sence  Em'line  lef ;  'pears 
mighty  hard  she  couldn't  hev  been  let  ter 
bide  awhile  longer."  And  once  more  his  eyes 
filled  with  tears. 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.       55 

"  Waal,  mournin'  the  dead  is  grudgin'  'em 
the  glory,"  said  Mrs.  Guyther  in  her  comfort 
ing  tones. 

"  I  know  that,"  said  Jerry,  "  I  hev  tried  ter 
bow  my  mind;"  his  eyes  were  still  full  of 
tears.  And  Ike,  looking  at  them,  was  disposed 
to  wonder  where  he  got  them,  so  little  did 
they  seem  genuine. 

The  tallow  dip  on  the  mantel-piece  went 
out  in  a  splutter  and  left  them  all  sitting  in 
the  red  glow  of  the  fire,  which  was  a  mass  of 
coals  where  the  white  flames  had  been.  It 
was  far  later  than  the  usual  bed-time  of  the 
family,  and  thus  they  were  reminded  of  it. 
Mrs.  Guyther,  kneeling  on  the  hearth,  began 
to  cover  the  coals  with  the  plentiful  ashes  that 
lay  in  great  heaps  on  either  side.  The  dogs, 
summoned  by  Hiram  Guyther  to  leave  the 
house,  pulled  themselves  into  various  efforts 
at  an  upright  posture,  and  sat  gazing  blink- 
ingly  at  the  fire  with  a  determination  to  mis 
understand  the  tenor  of  his  discourse.  One 
of  them  glanced  over  his  shoulder  at  the  door 
and  shivered  at  the  thought  of  the  bleak 
dampness  outside.  Another  yawned  shrilly 


56       THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

and  was  adjured  by  aunt  Jemima  to  hesh  his 
mouth  —  did  n't  he  know  he  'd  wake  the  baby 
up  if  he  kep'  yappin'  that-a-way. 

"  Let  the  dogs  alone,  Hiram,"  said  Mrs. 
Guyther,  "  they  count  on  bein'  allowed  ter 
stay  till  the  las'  minit.  Ye  show  Jerry  whar 
he  hev  ter  sleep  whilst  I  fix  the  fire." 

After  the  host  had  shown  Jerry  up  the  lad 
der  to  the  shadowy  roof-room,  Abner,  who  had 
not  again  spoken  to  the  visitor,  and  seeming 
as  if  he  were  gazing  ponderingly  into  the  fire, 
said  suddenly  to  the  two  women  :  — 

"  What  do  that  leetle  gal  look  like?  " 

Mrs.  Guyther  paused  with  the  shovel  in  her 
hand,  as  she  still  knelt  on  the  hearth. 

Aunt  Jemima  dropped  her  knitting  in  her 
lap. 

They  replied  in  a  breath :  — 

"  The  pritties'  yearthly  human  ever  you 
see ! " 

"  Bigg68'  gray  eyes  !  "  cried  Mrs.  Guyther, 
"  an'  black  lashes  !  " 

"An'  yallerhair  —  yaller  ez  gold  an'  haifen 
a  yard  long,"  exclaimed  aunt  Jemima. 

"  Fine  bleached  skin,  white  ez  milk,"  said 
Mrs.  Guyther. 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.   57 

"  An'  yit  she  's  all  pink  —  special  when 
she  laughs,"  cried  aunt  Jemima,  "  jes'  like 
these  hyar  wild  roses  —  ye  'member  'em,  don't 
ye,  Ab,  growin'  in  the  fence  corner  in  the 
June  weather  " — 

— "  Sech  a  many  of  'em  over  yander  by 
Keedon  Bluffs,"  put  in  Mrs.  Guyther. 

"  I  'member  'em,"    said  Ab. 

"Jes'  the  color  of  'em  when  she  laughs  — 
jes'  like  they  be,  a-blowin'  about  in  the 
wind,"  declaimed  aunt  Jemima. 

"  She  's  named  right  —  Rosy  ;  she  's  like 
'em,"  said  Mrs.  Guyther. 

The  red  glow  of  the  embers  was  full  on 
the  blind  man's  face,  encircled  by  shadows. 
It  seemed  half  smiling,  or  perhaps  that  was 
some  illusion  of  the  fire-light,  for  it  was  pen 
sive  too,  and  wistful.  He  pondered  for  a 
while ;  then  — "  I  'd  like  ter  see  her,"  he 
said,  simply.  "  I  would." 

Every  word  was  distinctly  audible  in  the 
roof-room.  Jerry  Binwell  sat  in  a  rickety 
chair  amongst  the  shadows,  his  head  atten 
tively  bent  down,  his  hands  on  his  knees,  his 
hat  drooping  half  over  his  face.  The  rifts 
between  the  puncheons  of  the  flooring  ad- 


58   THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

mitted  a  red  glow  from  the  fire-lit  room  be 
low,  and  illumined  the  dusky  loft  with  longi 
tudinal  shafts  of  light.  A  triumphant  smile 
played  over  his  face  as  the  women  talked  of 
the  beauty  of  the  little  Rosamond  —  a  smile 
that  might  have  expressed  only  paternal  pride 
and  satisfaction  in  the  comfortable  results  of 
the  evening.  But  when  the  blind  man's  rich 
low  voice  sounded,  "  I  'd  like  ter  see  her  — 
I  would,"  the  listener's  face  changed.  The 
narrow  gleam  of  light  from  the  cracks  in  the 
floor  played  upon  the  mocking  animosity  in 
his  eyes,  the  sneer  on  his  lips  as  they  parted. 
He  stood  suddenly  erect,  in  a  tense  soldierly 
position  —  among  the  shadows,  and  the  bags 
of  "  yerbs,"  and  the  old  clothes,  and  the 
peltry  hanging  from  the  ridge-pole — brought 
his  heels  together  with  a  swift  precision,  and 
then  the  deserter  mockingly  carried  his  hand 
to  his  hat  in  a  military  salute. 

"  I  would,"  dreamily  reiterated  the  blind 
soldier  in  the  room  below. 

The  deserter,  relaxing  his  martial  attitude 
to  his  normal  slouch,  noiselessly  smote  his 
thigh  with  his  right  hand,  and  burst  into 
silent  laughter. 


IV. 

THE  next  morning  Ike  woke  with  an  odd, 
heavy  sense  of  having  sustained  some  serious 
misfortune,  and  it  was  several  moments  be 
fore  he  could  identify  it ;  when  he  did,  he  was 
amazed  to  find  it  only  his  intuitive  distrust  of 
the  stranger's  presence  here,  and  an  aversion 
to  its  continuance.  He  upbraided  himself  in 
the  same  instant  for  the  inhospitable  thought. 
"  Hyar  I  be,  actially  a-grudgin'  the  houseless 
ones  a  shelter  from  the  yellimints,"  he  said 
in  shame. 

He  was  disappointed,  however,  to  observe 
that  after  breakfast  there  was  no  sign  of  an 
impending  departure;  Jerry  Binwell  easily 
adapted  himself  to  the  domestic  routine  and 
smoked  and  lounged  before  the  fire,  or  strolled 
lazily  about  the  yard.  Ike  thought,  for  all  he 
so  readily  made  himself  at  home,  that  his 
sordid,  weak,  sly  face  looked  strangely  alien 
and  out  of  place  among  the  sterling,  honest, 


60       THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

candid  countenances  of  the  family  circle.  So 
ill  at  ease  did  Ike  feel  with  this  vague  anxiety 
that  he  was  glad  enough  when  his  mother 
bethought  herself  that  she  needed  logwood 
from  the  store.  Mounted  on  the  old  gray 
mare  he  set  out  on  this  errand,  feeling  lib 
erated  in  a  measure,  riding  against  the  fresh 
wind  that  seemed  to  blow  away  the  vexing 
distemper  of  his  thoughts. 

The  rain  had  revivified  the  world ;  every 
thing  seemed  made  anew.  The  colors  were 
so  luminously  clear ;  how  splendidly  the  ma 
ples  deployed  down  the  mountain  side,  with 
red  and  amber  and  purple  gleams ;  every 
needle  of  the  pines  was  tipped  with  a  rain 
drop,  prismatically  glittering.  Mists  rose  from 
the  intermediate  valleys  between  the  ranges, 
and  folded  their  wings  for  a  space,  dallying 
on  the  summit,  and  then,  drawn  sunwards, 
lifted  with  silent  ethereal  grace  into  the  soft 
blue  sky.  How  lofty  the  mountains  seemed 
to-day  —  how  purple !  Even  the  red  mud 
beneath  his  mare's  hoofs  had  depths  of  rich 
ocherous  tints,  restful  to  the  eye.  It  splashed 
monotonously  under  the  steady  jogging  tread, 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.   61 

so  muffled  that  a  squirrel,  nimbly  speeding 
along  the  topmost  rail  of  the  wayside  fence, 
had  no  thought  of  an  approach,  and  seemed 
a  fellow-traveler ;  a  swift  one  !  —  the  old 
mare  is  soon  far  behind.  And  now  the  river 
is  crossed,  swollen  by  the  rain  and  of  a  clay- 
color,  instead  of  its  wonted  limpid  silvery  tint, 
and  deep  enough  in  the  middle  to  make  the 
old  mare  flounder  to  the  girth  and  then  un 
willingly  swim,  while  Ike  gathers  himself  on 
his  knees  on  the  saddle  to  keep  out  of  the 
cold  water.  And  now  up  the  rocky  bank  in 
the  deep  shadowy  woods,  —  where  there  is  no 
fence  on  either  side  of  the  road,  which  seems 
merely  a  vagrant  wheel-track  here  and  there 
in  the  mud,  covered  with  the  yellow  and  red 
and  brown  fallen  leaves  —  and  all  the  bosky 
vistas  are  full  of  richest  color.  Everywhere 
the  giant  trees  close  thickly  in  —  no  sign  of 
mountains  now,  save  the  tonic  balsamic  air 
in  proof  of  the  altitudes.  Only  the  pines 
and  cedars  and  the  jungles  of  the  laurel  are 
green,  and  green  they  will  be  all  winter. 
Hear  that !  a  fox  barks  in  that  dense  tangle 
—  are  the  frost  grapes  ripe,  old  Crafty  ?  And 


62   THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

suddenly  between  a  scarlet  oak  and  a  yellow 
hickory  a  section  of  purple  mountain  shows, 
a  floating  capricious  sprite-like  mist  slips  in 
and  out  of  sight,  and  there  at  the  base  of  the 
range  is  the  little  store  —  a  low  white- washed 
shanty  of  one  room  ;  further  up  the  slope  in 
the  clearing  a  gray  log-cabin  stands  where 
Skimpy  Sawyer  lives. 

Skimpy's  father  kept  the  store,  in  a  lei 
surely  and  unexcited  fashion  —  indeed  many 
people  might  have  considered  that  the  store 
kept  itself.  As  Ike  dismounted  and  hitched  « 
the  mare  to  the  fence,  he  gave  a  peculiar 
whistle,  a  preconcerted  signal,  loud  and  shrill 
enough  to  summon  his  friend  if  he  had  been 
anywhere  in  the  vicinity.  No  one  responded, 
and  Ike  took  his  way  to  the  open  door  of  the 
store. 

He  had  a  certain  pleasant  anticipation ; 
here  congregated  the  mountain  cronies,  and 
he  loved  to  listen  to  their  talk  enriched  with 
warlike  reminiscences,  through  which  vibrat 
ed,  as  it  were,  some  faint  and  far-off  echo 
of  the  strain  of  the  bugle  and  the  roll  of 
the  drum. 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.       63 

His  hopes  were  suddenly  destroyed.  As  he 
ascended  the  three  or  four  unhewn  rocks  that 
formed  the  steps  to  the  door,  he  heard  the 
long,  expressionless  drawl  of  the  storekeeper 
within,  and  then  a  fat  man's  husky  laugh. 
Ike  started  guiltily  at  the  sound.  But  the 
broad  sunshine  had  thrown  a  squatty  shadow 
of  him  upon  the  floor  within,  and  lie  knew  that 
this  caricature  was  recognized,  for  the  voice 
sang  out  suddenly  —  "  Ai  — yi  Ike  ;  I  see  ye ! 
Need  n't  be  hidin' !  I  '11  kern  arter  ye  !  " 

Then  as  the  boy,  shamefaced  and  a  little 
lowering,  appeared  in  the  doorway,  he  con 
tinued,  "  Whar  's  that  buckeye  tree  ye  war 
a-goin'  ter  cut  down  fur  me  so  brash  ?  " 

"I  plumb  furgot  it,"  mumbled  Ike,  as  if 
his  contrition  were  more  acceptable  when  half 
articulate.  "  I  furgot  it,  Mr.  Corbin." 

"  I  '11  be  bound  ye  did !  "  said  the  fat  man 
vivaciously. 

He  was  seated  in  one  of  the  rickety  chairs 
which  hardly  seemed  adequate  to  his  weight. 
He  wore  an  unbleached  cotton  shirt,  a  suit 
of  blue  jeans  much  creased  and  crumpled, 
and  a  broad-brimmed  hat,  beneath  which  was 


64       THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

a  face  also  creased  and  crumpled.  He  was 
slow  and  inactive  rather  than  old,  and  a  man 
of  -his  age  who  had  lived  a  different  life 
would  hardly  have  such  gray  hair  as  his,  or 
so  many  wrinkles.  Nevertheless  he  had  not 
entirely  subsided  into  the  chimney  corner  as 
is  the  habit  of  the  elderly  mountaineer.  He 
still  plied  his  trade  which  was  that  of  mak 
ing  spinning-wheels  and  chairs,  bread  troughs 
and  bowls,  which  require  mechanical  dexterity 
rather  than  agility ;  thus  it  was  that  he  had 
hired  Ike  to  find  and  cut  down  a  sound  and 
stalwart  buckeye  suitable  for  his  purposes,  his 
own  unwieldy  bulk  and  sedentary  habits  mak 
ing  him  averse  to  undertaking  the  job  himself. 
Peter  Sawyer,  the  storekeeper,  was  tall 
and  lank.  He  had  a  long  head,  an  attenuated 
face,  and  a  habit  of  basking  in  the  sun,  which 
was  not  incongruous  with  a  certain  lizard-like 
aspect.  He  sat  now  with  his  chair  tilted 
against  the  frame  of  the  doorway,  and  the 
sunshine  poured  through  upon  him.  He  too 
wore  his  hat,  and  did  not  move  while  one  of 
his  customers  counted  some  pelts  that  he  had 
brought  to  exchange  and  announced  the  re- 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.   65 

suit.  "  Want  some  sugar  an'  salt  fur  'em  ?  " 
demanded  the  merchant  lazily.  "  He'p  yer- 
se'f,  neighbor  ;  he'p  yerse'f." 

The  neighbor,  who  lived  on  the  other  side 
of  the  mountain,  pottered  around  among  the 
merchandise  in  search  of  the  sugar  and  salt, 
attended  only  by  the  storekeeper's  dog,  an 
earnest-minded  and  grave-mannered  brute, 
that  guarded  the  store  by  night  and  seemed 
to  clerk  there  by  day,  following  the  customers 
about  with  sedulous  politeness,  and  appar 
ently  only  hindered  from  waiting  upon  them 
by  the  lack  of  adaptability  in  his  paws.  His 
urbanity  did  not  extend  to  their  followers. 
He  measured  strength  with  all  the  dogs  that 
came  to  the  store.  It  was  useless  for  any 
pacifically  disposed  hound  to  sit  under  the 
wagon  bed  at  a  safe  distance.  The  clerk 
would  rush  out  with  a  celerity  that  implied  a 
hundred  feet,  and  the  fracas  under  the  wagon 
would  be  long  and  loud  and  bloody.  But 
he  had  not  all  the  canine  pluck  in  the  Big 
Smoky,  and  thus  it  was  that  one  of  his  ears 
was  slit,  and  he  preferred  to  shut  one  eye, 
and  his  tail  was  but  a  stump.  He  turned 


66       THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

wagging  it  vivaciously  as  Ike  came  in,  and 
the  storekeeper,  regardless  of  old  Corbin's 
reproofs,  said  benignantly,  "  Howdy,  Ike, 
howdy  ?  Make  yerse'f  at  home.  How 's  the 
fambly,  Ike,  how 's  the  fambly  ?  " 

"  Jes'  toler'ble,"  said  Ike,  taking  a  rickety 
chair  near  the  door. 

"  Uncle  Ab  ez  well  ez  common  ? "  de 
manded  the  customer,  still  hunting  about  for 
the  salt.  He  was  a  tall,  straight,  soldierly 
fellow,  and  though  he  had  fought  on  the 
opposite  side  he  felt  a  comrade-like  sympathy 
for  the  blinded  artillery-man. 

"He  be  jes'  ez  peart  ez  ever  —  jes'  a-settin'- 
back,"  said  Ike,  with  responsive  interest. 
He  had  great  love  for  his  uncle  and  a  special 
veneration  for  a  man  so  learned  as  he  fancied 
Abner  Guyther  to  be  in  the  science  of  gun 
nery.  "  He  air  jes'  ez  lively  ez  a  three- 
year-old  colt." 

"  Ain't  he  a  heap  o'  trouble  ter  lead  about 
an'  sech  ?  "  demanded  old  Corbin,  turning  his 
crow's-feet  —  one  could  hardly  have  said  his 
glance,  for  it  was  so  deeply  enveloped  among 
the  folds  of  wrinkles  —  upon  Ike. 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.       67 

"  Naw  sir ! "  the  boy  repudiated  the  idea 
with  a  glowing  cheek  and  a  flashing  eye. 
"  Uncle  Ab  air  sech  good  comp'ny  everybody 
in  the  fambly  jes'  hankers  ter  bide  nigh  him; 
the  identical  dogs  fight  one  another  fur  which 
one  air  ter  be  'lowed  ter  lead  him  —  some 
times  ef  we-uns  air  busy  he  walks  with  a 
string  ter  the  dog's  neck.  Shucks !  the  main 
thing  air  to  git  ter  lead  him  —  jes'  ez  apt  ez 
not  uncle  Ab  will  set  out  by  his  lone  self. 
An'  he  don't  often  run  over  enny thing — he 
'pears  ter  hev  a  heap  o'  sense  in  his  hands, 
an'  he  knows  whenst  he  air  a-comin'  towards 
ennything  like  a  door  or  post,  though  he  '11 
walk  ag'in  cheers  or  tubs  or  sech.  'T  other 
day  —  ye  mought  hev  knocked  me  down  I 
war  so  surprised  —  I  kem  along  the  road 
'bout  a  quarter  'o  a  mile  from  home,  an'  thar 
sot  uncle  Ab  a-top  o'  the  rail  fence  —  jes' 
a-settin'  thar  in  the  sun  all  alone  an'  a-whis- 
tliu'  the  bugle  calls." 

"  Ho  !  ho  !  "  exclaimed  the  customer,  "  he 
always  hed  spunk,  —  Abner  hed;  an'  he 
air  a-showin'  it  now,  jes'  ez  true  ez  when  he 
sarved  in  his  battery." 


68   THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

"  Yes,  sir !  "  exclaimed  Ike,  gratified  by 
this  sign  of  appreciation.  Then  warming  to 
the  subject  he  continued,  "  Uncle  Ab  ain't 
'feared  o'  nuthin'  —  not  even  now,  in  the 
everlastin'  dark  ez  he  be.  Why,  't  other  day  I 
see  a  old  cannon-ball  a-layin'  on  a  ledge  over 
yander  at  Keedon  Bluffs,  an'  when  he  learn 
'bout'n  it  he  war  plumb  trembly,  he  war  so 
excited,  an'  he  'lowed  he  'd  go  ef  I  'd  holp 
him  a  leetle,  an'  climb  down  them  tremen- 
jious  cluffs,  jes'  ter  lay  his  hand  on  that  can 
non-ball,  ter  remind  hisself  o'  that  thar  old 
gun  o'  his  'n,  what  he  doted  on  so.  It  fairly 
bruk  his  heart  ter  spike  it.  I  hev  heard  him 
tell  'bout'n  it  a-many-a-time." 

"  Hey  !  "  exclaimed  Peter  Sawyer,  turning 
about  in  amaze,  "a  blind  man  climb  down 
Keedon  Bluffs!  'T  would  take  a  mighty  spry 
feller  with  all  his  senses  fur  that.  I  mis 
doubts  ef  ennybody  hev  ever  done  sech  ez 
that  —  thout  't  war  Ab  whenst  he  war  young 
an'  limber,  an'  wild  ez  a  buck." 

Ike  had  become  suddenly  conscious  that 
old  Corbin  was  watching  him  curiously. 

"  He  don't  'pear  ter  know  he  air  blind,  do 
he  ?  "  demanded  the  fat  man,  slowly. 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.   69 

Ike  detected  some  covert  meaning  in  the 
tones.  "  Waal,"  he  said,  vaguely  embarrassed 
and  swinging  his  foot  against  the  rung  of  the 
chair,  "  Uncle  Ab  —  he  jes'  sets  an'  laffs,  an' 
talks  'bout  whar  he  hev  been  an'  what  him 
an'  his  comrades  done,  an'  he  don't  notice 
much  what 's  goin'  on  now,  nor  look  out  fur 
nuthin'  ez  is  ter  kem." 

"  He  ain't  soured  noways,"  put  in  the  cus 
tomer,  still  intent  on  his  purchase. 

There  was  a  momentary  silence.  The  flies 
buzzed  about  the  sorghum  barrel.  You  might 
have  heard  the  cat  purring  on  the  shelf. 

"  This  hyar  'bout  fair  medjure,  Pete  ?  "  the 
customer  demanded  lifting  his  grave  eyes  as 
he  helped  himself  to  salt. 

"  I  reckon  so  ;  I  reckon  so,"  said  the  store 
keeper  casually. 

Ike  rose  abruptly  in  awkward  and  eager 
haste  ;  in  a  constrained  and  nervous  way  he 
asked  for  the  logwood  he  wanted.  His  quick 
instincts  had  detected  fault  in  something  that 
he  had  said  or  the  meaning  that  he  had  con 
veyed.  But  his  penetration  was  not  so  subtle 
as  to  descry  wherein  the  fault  consisted.  He 


70       THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

was  eager  to  get  away.  "  'Fore  I  let  ray  jaw 
git  ter  wabblin'  ag'in.  An'  then  I  bed  better 
cut  off  the  e-end  o'  ray  tongue  with  a  hatchet 
an'  mebbe  ifc  would  n't  be  so  powerful  nim 
ble." 

He  expected  old  Corbin  to  say  more,  but 
the  fat  man  sat  solemnly  puffing  his  pipe, 
his  face  more  than  usually  wrinkled,  as  he 
watched  Ike  with  his  small  twinkling  eves 

O  *j 

while  Peter  Sawyer  procured  the  logwood 
and  gave  it  to  the  boy. 

With  some  indefinite  intention  of  propitia 
tion  Ike  turned  toward  him  at  the  door.  "  I 
hev  been  toler'ble  busy  lately,  but  I  'm  a-goin' 
ter  cut  down  that  thar  tree  this  evening, 
sure." 

"  So  do  !  So  do  !  "  assented  old  Corbin 
unreservedly.  "  Then  I  '11  gin  ye  that  thar 
rooster  I  war  a-tellin'  ye  'bout.  Powerful 
spry  Dominicky." 

Ike  looked  back  over  his  shoulder  once  as 
he  trotted  off  on  the  old  white  mare.  The 
storekeeper  and  his  clerk  were  standing  in  the 
doorway ;  the  ex-soldier  had  completed  his 
purchases,  and  was  riding  off  toward  the 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.   71 

mountain  ;  old  Corbin  was  visible  sitting 
within  the  door,  a  hand  on  either  knee,  his 
eyes  meditatively  downcast.  He  solemnly 
shook  his  head  as  he  cogitated,  and  Ike  was 
moved  to  wonder  what  he  meant  by  it.  "  I 
wisht  I  bed  n't  tole  what  uncle  Ab  say  'bout 
climbin'  down  them  bluffs.  They  'pear  ter 
think  it  be  so  cur'ous." 

And  it  was  of  Abner  Guyther  that  the 
two  gossips  were  talking  as  Ike  rode  away 
out  of  sight. 

"  That  be  a  powerful  strange  thing  fur 
Abner  ter  be  a-sayin',''  remarked  the  store 
keeper  presently. 

Old  Corbin  shook  his  head  with  a  wise 
look ;  a  wise  smile  wrinkled  about  the  cor 
ners  of  his  mouth. 

"  In  my  opinion  lie,  ain't  no  blind  man. 
He  kin  see  some,  mebbe  more,  mebbe  less. 
He  air  jes'  purtendin'.  Set  up  thar  an'  laff 
an'  joke  ez  spry  ez  a  boy  o'  twenty,  an'  talk 
'bout  climbin'  down  the  bluffs  —  an'  tell  me 
he  ain't  hed  his  vision  for  all  these  years  !  I 
know  Abner !  " 

"  What  makes  ye  'low  sech  ez  that,  Jake  ?  " 


72   THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

demanded  his  crony,  fairly  startled  out  of  his 
composure  by  this  proposition. 

"  Kase  Abner  always  war  a  'sateful  an'  a 
plottin'  boy — look  at  the  way  he  fooled  his 
folks  when  he  run  off  ter  jine  the  Secesh  !  I 
ain't  furgittin'  that.  An  sure  's  ye  air  born 
thar  's  suthin'  behind  all  them  thar  shet  eye 
balls.  Abner,  he  hain't  quit  his  plannin'  an' 
sech.  He  hev  got  his  reason  fur  it.  It 's 
slow  a-showin'.  But  it  '11  be  made  plain." 

The  storekeeper  puffed  his  cob-pipe,  and  si 
lently  watched  the  blue  wreaths  curl  from  it. 
He  did  not  enter  readily  into  this  opinion, 
for  he  was  a  man  of  the  practical  views  nat 
ural  to  those  who  associate  much  with  their 
fellows.  Despite  the  sparse  population  of  the 
district  he  had  a  pivotal  participation  in  such 
life  as  there  was  on  the  slopes  and  in  the 
cove,  for  it  revolved  about  the  store.  But 
Corbin  spent  his  days  in  mere  mechanical  la 
bor  that  left  his  mind  free  to  wander.  Thus 
speculation  and  vague  fancies  were  his  com 
panions,  and  there  was  scant  wonder  that  he 
should  presently  treat  them  as  conclusions  and 
facts. 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.       73 

In  silent  anticipation  of  the  elucidation  of 
the  singular  theory  advanced,  Peter  Sawyer 
drew  from  his  pocket  a  strong  clasp  knife 
and  began  to  whittle  a  bit  of  wood  which  he 
picked  up  from  the  doorstep.  But  old  Cor- 
bin's  next  remark  seemed  to  have  no  relation 
to  the  subject. 

"  Who  d'ye  reckon  I  seen  yestiddy  up  yan- 
der  by  that  thar  big  vine-grown  spot  what 
they  calls  Old  Scratch's  vineyard  ?  " 

Pete  Sawyer  looked  inquiringly  doubtful, 
but  silently  puffed  his  pipe. 

"Jerry  Binwell!" 

Old  Corbin  paused  after  he  said  this,  smil 
ing  broadly  and  fixedly  —  all  the  wrinkles 
about  his  mouth  and  eyes  seemed  to  come  out 
as  if  to  enjoy  the  sensation  that  this  announce 
ment  occasioned. 

The  storekeeper  stared  blankly  for  a  mo 
ment,  then  dropped  his  pipe  upon  the  ground. 
The  fire  rolled  out. 

"  La ws-a-massy  ! "  he  exclaimed,  unheeding. 

"  Yes,  sir !  same  old  Jerry  ;  the  wuss  fur 
wear ;  some  <fo-lapidated  ;  but  —  same  old 
Jerry ! " 


74       THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

"  I  'lowed  he  war  in  Texas ;  folks  said  he 
went  thai*  arter  the  war." 

"  I  hailed  him  ;  he  purtended  not  ter  know 
me  a-fust,  an'  he  stopped,  an'  we  talked 
awhile.  He  'lowed  he  had  never  been  ter 
Texas.  Jes'  down  the  kentry  a  piece  in  Per 
simmon  Cove.  I  dunno  whether  he  war  tel- 
lin'  the  truth." 

"  I  reckon  he  war,"  said  the  storekeeper. 
"  It  air  a  mighty  out-o'-the-way  place  —  Per 
simmon  Cove  ;  Satan  hisself  mought  hid  out 
in  Persimmon  an'  folks  in  gineral  never  be 
the  wiser  ez  the  Enemy  war  enny  nigher." 

"  Pie  'lowed  he  married  thai1,"  continued 
Corbin.  "  An'  what  d'ye  reckon  he  hed 
along  o'  him  ?  " 

He  looked  at  his  crony  with  a  broad  grin. 

"A  —  leetle  gal !  Thar  they  war  a-travel- 
in'  along  the  slope.  Hed  a  leetle  ox-cart  an' 
a  steer  geared  up  in  it;  he  hed  a  cow  critter 
too  ;  calf  followed ;  an'  sech  cheers  an'  house- 
stuff  ez  he  owned  piled  in  the  cart,  an'  settin' 
a-top  o'  it  all  this  hyar  leetle  gal  —  'bout  ez 
big  ez  a  shingle.  She  rid,  bein'  ez  she  hain't 
got  no  weight  sca'cely." 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.   75 

"  An'  whar  's  the  'oman  ?  "  asked  the  store 
keeper,  missing  an  important  factor  in  the 
family  circle. 

Corbin  lowered  his  voice  and  his  humorous 
wrinkles  strove  to  retire  themselves. 

"  Dead,"  he  said  gravely. 

Peter  Sawyer,  bethinking  himself  of  his 
pipe,  filled  it  anew  with  a  crumpled  leaf  of 
tobacco,  relighted  it,  and  with  the  pipe-stem 
between  his  teeth  resumed  the  conversation. 

"  An'  what  sorter  welcome  do  he  reckon  he 
airgoin'  ter  find  'mongst  the  mountings  hyar. 
Do  he  'low  we  hev  furgot  his  sheer  in  the 
war,  kase  it  hev  been  right  smart  time  since  ? 
Naw  sir.  I  'members  like  yestiddy  whenst 
old  Jeemes  Guyther  —  Abner's  dad,  ye  know 
—  kem  ter  my  store,  lookin'  ez  ef  he  hed 
buried  all  his  kin  on  yearth,  an'  tole  ez  Abner 
hed  run  off  ter  jine  the  Secesh  along  o'  Jerry 
Binwell.  An'  the  old  man  said  he  hoped  Ab 
mought  die  afore  he  reached  the  Rebel  lines, 
kase  he  'd  ruther  mourn  him  dead  'n  know 
he  hed  raised  his  hand  ag'in  the  Nunion." 

"  But  he  would  n't,  though,"  said  Corbin 
prosaically.  "  Them  war  days  when  men 
talked  mighty  big." 


76   THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

"  An'  they  acted  mighty  big  too,  some 
times,"  retorted  Sawyer. 

"  Waal,  Abner  war  the  apple  o'  the  old 
man's  eye,"  said  Corbin;  "I  b'lieve  he'd 
turn  in  his  grave  ef  he  could  know  how  Ab 
war  hurt.  The  whole  fambly  jes'  the  same, 
too.  Look  how  Ab  air  pompered  now.  Ef 
Abner  war  blind  sure  enough  he  could  n't  be 
better  treated.  His  dad  always  put  the 
blame  o'  Ab's  goin'  on  Jerry.  An'  Jerry 
war  a  wuthless  chance  !  He  kem  back  inside 
o'  a  year  —  deserted!  But  Ab  never  kem 
back  till  arter  the  s'render." 

"  What  makes  ye  'low  ez  Abner  hev  got 
his  vision  same  ez  common  ?  "  Sawyer  de 
manded  again.  "That  notion  'pears  power 
ful  cur'ous  ter  me  —  seein'  him  led  about  hyar 
fur  nigh  on  ter  twenty  year,  now  by  Ike,  an' 
now  by  his  brother,  an'  then  ag'in  by  a  dog 
an'  sech." 

Old  Corbin  looked  cautiously  over  his 
shoulder  through  the  open  door  as  if  he  feared 
some  lurking  eaves  -  dropper.  The  cabin  on 
the  slope  stood  silent  and  motionless  in  the 
motionless  yellow  radiance  of  the  autumnal 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.   77 

sun.  But  the  winds  were  astir,  and  as  they 
swayed  the  woods  they  revealed  bizarre  sun 
beams  rioting  hither  and  thither  in  glittering 
fantasies  among  the  leaves.  No  one  sauntered 
down  the  curves  of  the  winding  road  nor 
along  the  banks  of  the  shining  river.  The 
only  creature  visible  was  the  old  dog  asleep, 
but  sitting  upright,  in  a  dislocated  posture, 
his  head  nodding  spasmodically,  and  his 
lower  jaw  dropped. 

"  Ye  hearn,"  said  Corbin  softly,  "  that  thar 
nevy  o'  his,  Ike  Guyther,  'low  Ab  want  ter 
climb  down  Keedon  Bluffs  ter  whar  that  old 
ball 's  a-lyin'.  Now  do  ye  reckon  a  blind  man 
ez  hev  got  good  sense  air  goin'  ter  trest  his 
bones  a-gittin'  down  that  jagged  bluff  ez  sheer 
ez  a  wall  with  sech  holp  ez  that  thar  skitter- 
brained  Ike  kin  gin  ?" 

Sawyer,  holding  his  pipe  in  one  hand  and 
his  grizzled  chin  in  the  other,  meditatively 
shook  his  head. 

"  Naw  sir,"  said  Corbin,  putting  the  gesture 
into  the  more  stalwart  negation  of  words. 
"  A  man,  though,  ez  hed  his  vision,  though 
his  j'ints  be  stiff  some  with  age  and  laziness, 


78       THE  STORY   OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

mought  do  it,  special  ef  he  hed  the  holp  o'  some 
strong  spry  boy  like  Ike,  ez  be  astonishin' 
grown  fur  bis  age,  but  ain't  got  no  mo'  sense 
an'  scrimination  than  a  boy  naterally  hev." 

Once  more  Peter  Sawyer  nodded  bis  head 
—  this  time  the  action  was  vertical,  for  the 
gesture  intimated  affirmation. 

"  What  in  the  name  o'  reason  do  Abner 
want  ter  go  down  whar  the  old  ball  be 
lodged  ?  "  he  asked  in  a  speculative  voice,  as 
if  he  hardly  expected  an  answer. 

But  the  ready  Corbin,  primed  with  sur 
mises,  first  looked  cautiously  up  and  down  the 
road  and  then  ventured  a  suggestion. 

"  Waal,  sir  ;  seeiu'  Jerry  Binwell  minded 
me  o'  Abner  Guyther,  an'  how  they  used  ter 
consort  together,  an'  thinkin'  o'  Ab  'minded 
me  o'  the  store  old  Squair  Torbett  used  ter 
set  on  him.  Ab  war  mighty  nigh  always  at 
the  Squair's  house  a-doin'  some  leetle  job  or 
other,  special  arter  the  Squair  tuk  ter  agein' 
so  through  worryin'  'bout  the  war  an'  his  sons 
ez  war  in  the  army.  An'  Jerry  Binwell  war 
at  the  Squair's  too,  bein'  Ab's  shadder. 
Waal,  ye  know  the  Squair  hed  a  power  o' 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.   79 

money,  an'  he  hed  drawed  it  out'n  the  banks 
in  the  valley  towns,  'count  o'  the  raidin'  sol 
diers  an'  sech.  An'  he  hid  it  somehows. 
Some  'lowed  he  buried  it,  but  most  folks  said 
he  let  these  hyar  two  boys  inter  the  secret,  an' 
Ab  clomb  down  an'  hid  the  money  in  a  strong 
box  in  a  hole  in  Keedon  Bluffs,  whilst  Jerry 
watched.  Ye  hev  hearn  that  word?  Waal, 
sir,  the  Bluffs  air  like  a  honeycomb  ;  so  full 
o'  holes  ef  a  body  did  n't  know  which  one 
they  hid  it  in  they  could  n't  find  it." 

"  I  hev  hearn  folks  a-talkin'  'bout  it  my 
self,"  put  in  Pete  Sawyer,  "  though  o'  late 
years  they  hev  gin  that  up,  mos'ly." 

"  Yessir,"  assented  Corbin.  "  An'  the 
g'rillas  they  s'arched  the  Squair's  house  ag'in 
an'  ag'in,  an'  could  n't  find  nuthin'.  These 
two  boys  hed  run  off  ter  the  Secesh  army,  by 
that  time,  else  they  'd  hev  been  made  ter  tell 
whar  the  plunder  war  hid.  An'  though  Jerry 
deserted  an'  kem  back,  the  Southern  sympa 
thizers  would  n't  let  him  bide  one  single  night 
in  the  cove,  but  druv  him  off,  an'  he  ain't 
dared  ter  show  his  face  hyar  sence,  else  I 
reckon  he  'd  hev  stole  the  money,  ef  he  hed 


80       THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

knowed  whar  it  war  —  the  Squair  being  dead 
mighty  on  expected." 

The  storekeeper's  eyes  widened.  "  Ye  — 
'low  —  the  —  money  's  —  thar  —  yit  —  hid  in 
Keedon  Bluffs  ?  "  he  panted. 

"I  know  this,"  said  old  Corbin.  "  '  T  war 
hid  thar,  an'  I  hearn  with  my  own  ears  the 
heirs  say  they  never  got  no  money  out  'n  Kee 
don  Bluffs  —  they  fairly  scouted  the  idee.  An' 
now,"  he  pursued,  "  one  of  the  heirs  is  dead  ; 
an'  the  t'  other  's  moved  ter  Arkansas.  An' 
hyar  kerns  one  o'  the  men  ez  watched  whilst 
the  money  war  hid;  an'  the  t'  other  ez  hid  it 
—  a  blind  man  —  be  in  a  mighty  hurry  an' 
disturbament  ter  climb  down  Keedon  Bluffs. 
I  dunno  why  they  hain't  got  it  afore.  I  can't 
foller  percisely  the  serpient  trail  of  the  evil 
men.  But  ye  mark  my  words — them  two 
fellers  will  hev  a  powerful  big  row  —  or  "  — 
his  eyes  twinkled  —  "  they  '11  divide  the  plun 
der  an'  ye  '11  hear  o'  them  consortin'  tergether 
like  frien's." 

He  met  with  a  triumphant  leer  the  dis 
tended  astonished  gaze  of  the  storekeeper. 

"  Ho !  ho  !  Keedon  Bluffs  don't  speak  'less 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.   81 

they  be  spoke  to  fust,"  he  continued,  "but 
thar  secrets  git  noised  abroad.  Thar 's  suth- 
in'  thar  wuth  layin'  hands  on  'thout  foolin' 
along  of  a  old  spent  cannon-ball." 


V. 

THE  arrival  of  Jerry  Bin  well  and  his  little 
girl  at  Hiram  Guyther's  cabin  soon  became 
known  throughout  the  Cove,  and  the  fact, 
which  Ike  shortly  discovered,  that  the  new 
comers  were  regarded  with  disfavor  by  others 
did  not  tend  to  further  commend  them  to  him. 
He  felt  an  odd  sinking  of  the  heart  and  a 
grotesque  sort  of  mortification  whenever  he 
went  to  the  mill  or  the  store  and  encountered 
questions  and  comments  concerning  his  fa 
ther's  guests.  Sometimes  he  was  taken  aside 
by  a  conservative  old  codger,  and  the  queries 
were  propounded  in  a  mysterious  and  husky 
whisper  which  imparted  additional  urgency. 

"  They  tell  me  ez  Jerry  Binwell  air  a-visitin' 
yer  dad  —  air  that  a  true  word  ?  " 

And  Ike  would  sulkily  nod. 

"  What  did  he  kem  fur  ?  " 

"  Ter  get  out  'n  the  storm." 

"  Storm  's  been  over  a  week  an'  better  "  — 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.   83 

with  an  implacable  logic.  Then,  dredging 
with  new  energy  for  information  —  "  When 's 
he  goin'  away  ?  " 

"  Dnnno." 

"Whar's  he  goin'  ter?"  persistently. 

"Dunno." 

"  What's  he  doin'  of?"  changing  the  base 
of  attack. 

"  Nuthin'." 

"  What 's  he  say  ?  " 

"  Ennything." 

"Waal  sir!"  in  a  tone  of  disappointment, 
the  whole  examination  resulting  in  the  total 
amount  of  nothing. 

Out  of  Ike's  presence  public  opinion  ex 
pressed  itself  more  freely  and  it  was  unani 
mous.  No  one  denied  that  it  was  a  strange 
thing  that  Hiram  Guyther,  one  of  the  most 
solid,  respectable,  and  reliable  men  of  the 
whole  country-side,  whose  very  name  was  a 
guarantee  of  good  faith,  should  be  harboring 
a  graceless,  worthless,  neer-do-weel  like  Jerry 
Binwell,  who  was,  moreover,  suspected  of 
treachery  which  had  resulted  in  Abner's  blind 
ness.  The  lines  of  demarkation  between  those 


84   THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

of  high  character  and  those  who  lack  the 
sterling  virtues  are  strongly  drawn  and  rigor 
ously  observed  in  the  mountains.  The  stern 
and  grim  old  Hiram  himself  was  forced  to  re 
cognize  the  incongruity  of  the  situation  and  its 
utter  irreconcilability  with  the  popular  esti 
mation  of  himself  and  his  household.  But  he 
maintained  his  ground  as  well  as  he  might. 

"  Yaas,"  he  would  drawl,  "  Jerry 's  a-puttin' 
up  with  we-uns  now.  Dunno  how  long  he  '11 
stay.  Till  the  spring  o'  the  year,  mebbe. 
Naw,  him  an'  Abner  don't  clash  none.  Naw, 
he  don't  pester  me,  nuther." 

And  with  these  baffling  evasions  he  would 
ride  away,  leaving  the  gossips  at  the  store 
or  the  mill  drawing  their  chairs  closer  to 
gether,  and  knitting  their  brows,  and  shaking 
their  heads. 

It  was  all  most  ominous  and  depressing  to 
Ike,  for  he  was  proud  and  keenly  sensitive  to 
any  decline  in  public  esteem  ;  sometimes  he 
was  fairly  tempted  to  tell  that  the  old  folks 
at  his  house  had  fallen  victims  to  the  witch 
ing  charms  of  a  noisy  little  body  three  feet 
high,  who  made  them  like  everything  she  did, 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.       85 

and  do  things  of  which  they  would  never 
have  believed  themselves  capable.  Thus  they 
tolerated  Jerry  for  her  sake.  And  then  he 
held  his  peace  for  fear  the  gossips  would  say 
they  were  all  touched  in  the  head. 

For  certain  severe  elderly  people  who  had 
visited  the  house  —  it  had  more  visitors  than 
usual  —  had  observed  in  his  hearing  that  they 
were  sorry  for  his  mother  and  his  aunt  Je 
mima  ;  —  "  ter  be  cluttered  up  at  thar  time  o' 
life  with  a  young  child,  special  sech  a  one  ez 
that,  ez  could  no  mo'  stan'  still  'n  a  pea  on  a 
hot  shovel,  an'  war  a-laffin'  an'  a-hollerin'  all 
the  time  till  a-body  couldn't  hear  thar  own 
ears." 

Ike  felt  peculiar  resentment  against  the 
propounders  of  these  strictures,  although  he 
had  not  consciously  fallen  under  the  fascina 
tion  of  the  little  Rosamond.  He  could  not 
however  always  disregard  her  hilarious  chal 
lenges  to  play,  but  when  he  succumbed  it  was 
with  a  sort  of  surly  surprise  at  his  own  relent 
ing.  He  even  consented  to  see-saw  with  her, 
—  a  pastime  which  she  greatly  affected,  —  al 
though  he  was  obliged  to  sit  on  a  very  short 


86       THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

end  of  the  plank  thrust  between  the  rails  of 
the  fence  in  order  to  balance  her  very  small 
weight  as  she  sat  at  the  other  extremity,  on 
the  inside  of  the  fence.  And  there,  as  she 
swayed  high  and  dropped  low,  beaming  with 
smiles  and  pink  with  delight,  she  looked  like 
a  veritable  rose,  blown  about  in  the  playful 
wind.  But  Ike  was  less  picturesque  as  he 
bobbed  up  and  down  very  close  indeed  to  the 
rails  and  the  leaning  cross-stakes.  "  I  '11  butt 
my  brains  out  ag'in  these  rails  like  a  de 
mented  Billy-goat  if  I  don't  mind,"  he  said 
to  himself  in  dudgeon. 

One  day,  when  he  and  Skimpy  had  been 
visiting  certain  traps  that  they  had  jointly  set 
in  the  woods,  their  homeward  way  led  them 
past  the  store.  They  had  had  good  luck  with 
their  snares,  and  their  fine  spirits  responded 
alertly  to  a  robust  chorusing  laugh  that  sud 
denly  rang  out  from  the  dark  interior  of  the 
building. 

The  boys  quickened  their  steps ;  there  was 
something  unusual  going  on  inside. 

The  brown,  unpainted  walls  within,  the 
shadowy  beams  and  dusky  rafters  above,  the 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.   87 

burly  boxes  and  barrels  in  the  background, 
were  dimly  illumined  by  the  one  fibrous  slant 
of  sunshine  through  the  window,  which  served 
to  show  too  the  long  gaunt  figure  of  the  store 
keeper  standing  near  the  entrance.  He  was 
swaying  backward,  laughing  as  he  smote  his 
thigh,  and  he  called  out,  "  Do  it  ag'in, 
Shanks  !  Do  it  ag'in  !  " 

Then  the  boys  observed  that  there  was  a 
large  group  of  figures  standing  at  one  side, 
although  not  easily  distinguishable  since  their 
brown  jeans  garb  so  assimilated  with  the  mel 
low  tint  of  the  walls.  The  next  minute  Ike 
reached  the  door  and  the  whole  scene  was  dis 
tinct  before  him.  In  the  midst  of  the  circle 
stood  Jerry  Binwell,  his  coat  lying  on  the 
floor,  his  hat  hanging  on  the  knob  of  a  rick 
ety  chair.  His  thin,  long  face  was  flushed ; 
he  was  laughing  too  and  rubbing  his  hands, 
and  walking  to  and  fro  a  few  steps  each  way. 
"  Do  it  ag'in,  Shanks,"  once  more  called  out 
Peter  Sawyer. 

There  were  friendly  enough  glances  benfc 
upon  him,  and  everybody  was  laughing  pleas 
antly,  despite  the  pipes  held  between  strong 


88   THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

discolored  teeth.  Even  old  Jake  Corbin  had 
a  reluctant  twinkle  among  the  many  wrinkles 
that  encircled  his  eyes  as  he  sat  smoking,  his 
rickety  chair  tilted  back  against  the  wall. 

"  Pritty  spry  yit,  fur  a  ole  man,"  declared 
Bin  well,  still  rubbing  his  hands. 

"  Do  it  ag'in,  Shanks  !  "  rang  out  from  the 
bystanders. 

Binwell  looked  up  for  a  moment,  drawing 
back  to  the  extreme  end  of  the  apartment. 
Suddenly  he  crouched  and  sprang  into  the  air 
with  an  incredible  lightness.  It  was  a  long 
oblique  jump  to  the  beam  on  which  he  caught ; 
he  did  not  wait  a  second  but  "  skinned  the 
cat "  among  the  rafters  with  an  admirable 
dexterity  and  dropped  softly  on  his  feet  at 
the  doorway. 

Once  more  there  was  a  guffaw.  "  Go  it, 
Shanks !  "  "  He  's  a  servigrous  jumper,  sure  !  " 
"  Spry  as  a  deer !  " 

It  was  a  most  pacific  scene  and  the  exhibi 
tion  of  agility  seemed  likely  to  promote  only 
good  fellowship  and  the  pleasant  passing  of 
the  hour  until  old  Corbin  remarked  : 

"Yes,  Jerry's  a  good  jumper,  an'  a  good 
runner,  too,  I  hev  hearn." 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.   89 

Binwell  cast  a  quick  glance  over  his  shoul 
der  ;  a  light  gleamed  in  his  small,  dark,  de 
fiant  eye.  Whether  he  did  not  pique  him 
self  on  his  speed,  or  whether  he  detected  a 
sub-current  of  meaning  in  the  comment,  he 
was  moved  to  demand  abruptly : 

"  Whar  did  ye  ever  see  me  run  ?  " 

Old  Corbin's  delight  in  the  opportunity 
broadened  his  face  by  an  inch  or  two.  The 
display  of  intricate  hieroglyphic  wrinkles 
about  his  eyes  was  more  than  one  might  im 
agine  possible  to  be  described  by  age  and  fat 
ness.  His  mouth  distended  to  show  the  few 
teeth  that  had  not  yet  forsaken  his  gums ;  his 
burly  sides  were  shaking  with  laughter  before 
he  said,  "  I  never  seen  ye  run,  Jerry,  but  I 
hearn  ez  ye  done  some  mighty  tall  runnin'  in 
the  old  war  time." 

There  was  a  shout  of  derision  from  the 
crowd,  most  of  the  men  having  served  in  one 
army  or  the  other.  The  object  of  this  barbed 
ridicule  looked  as  if  he  might  sink  through 
the  floor.  His  face  flushed,  his  abashed  eyes 
dropped,  he  stood  quivering  and  abject  before 
them  all. 


90   THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

Ike  bad  a  quick  pang  of  pity  and  resent 
ment.  And  yet  he  was  ashamed  that  this  was 
the  man  who  sat  by  his  father's  hearth  and 
shared  their  bread. 

It  was  only  for  a  moment  that  he  was 
sorry  for  Binwell.  The  recovery  from  all 
semblance  of  shame  or  wounded  pride  was 
instantaneous  as  he  retorted  : 

"  That 's  mighty  easy  ter  say  'bout  enny- 
body."  He  whirled  around  on  his  light  heel. 
"  Naw,  folks,"  he  cried  out,  "  I  ain't  much  on 
the  run  ;  never  footed  it  more  'n  jes'  fairly. 
But  I  tell  ye  —  ef  ye  be  tired  o'  seein'  me 
jump  —  my  jumpin'  ain't  nuthin'  ter  my 
heitin'.  I  kin  lift  the  heaviest  man  hyar  an' 
jump  with  him.  Less  see,"  he  affected  to 
turn  about  and  survey  the  burly,  stalwart 
crowd.  "  Who  pulls  the  beam  at  the  high 
est  figger  ?  " 

He  hesitated  for  a  moment ;  then  with  a 
sudden  dart  that  was  like  the  movement  of  a 
fish,  he  seized  on  old  Corbin. 

"  Naw  !  naw  ! "  wheezed  the  fat  old  fel 
low  as  the  stringy,  muscular  arms  encircled 
him.  He  strove  to  hold  to  his  chair ;  it  fell 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.      91 

over  in  the  fracas  and  eluded  his  grasp ;  he 
clutched  at  the  window-sill  —  vainly;  his  hat 
dropped  off  ;  his  face  was  scarlet,  and  he 
roared  for  help. 

It  would  doubtless  have  been  extended  had 
not  the  quick  and  agile  Jerry  forestalled  the 
heavy  mountaineers.  He  lifted  Corbin  with 
a  mighty  effort ;  he  even  carried  out  his 
boast  of  jumping  —  not  high,  after  all,  but 
high  enough  for  the  wildly  clutching  old  man 
to  catch  the  low  beam  with  both  hands. 

Binwell  suddenly  loosed  his  hold  and  left 
him  swaying  ponderously  to  and  fro,  two  or 
three  feet  from  the  floor,  in  imminent  danger 
of  falling,  sputtering  and  wheezing,  and  red 
in  the  face  and  with  eyes  starting  out  of  his 
head.  Then  his  tormentor,  fearful  doubtless 
of  the  recoil  of  public  opinion,  caught  up  his 
hat  and  coat  and  with  a  loud  scornful  laugh 
ran  out  of  the  store  and  disappeared  up  the 
leafy  road. 

To  a  man  of  ordinary  weight  and  agility  it 
would  have  been  easy  enough  to  spring  to  the 
floor.  But  the  cumbersome  bulk  and  slow, 
clumsy  habit  of  old  Corbin  lent  the  situation 


92       THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

real  danger.  There  was  a  rush  to  his  assist 
ance  —  some  officious  hand  thrust  an  empty 
barrel  beneath  his  feet,  hoping  to  afford  him 
support,  but  it  toppled  under  his  weight  and 
down  he  came,  amidst  a  great  rending  of 
staves,  as  the  barrel  collapsed  beneath  him. 

He  was  unhurt,  although  greatly  shaken. 
He  had  been  frightened  at  first ;  perhaps 
there  was  never  so  angry  a  man  in  the  limits 
of  the  Cove  as  he  was  now.  Again  and 
again,  as  he  was  helped  to  his  chair,  he 
declared  that  he  would  revenge  himself  on 
Jerry  Binwell,  and  the  sympathetic  crowd 
expressed  their  sense  of  the  injury  and  the 
danger  to  which  he  had  been  subjected,  as 
well  as  the  indignity  offered  him.  To  Ike's 
extreme  amazement  Binwell's  name  was  often 
coupled  with  that  of  his  father,  or  the  blind 
man,  his  uncle.  Now,  ordinarily,  Ike  would 
have  felt  that  these  two  spirited  and  respon 
sible  people  were  amply  able  to  answer  for 
themselves  ;  but  he  knew  that  it  was  only  by 
an  odd  combination  of  circumstances  that 
they  were  associated,  almost  with  the  inti 
macy  of  family  relations,  with  such  a  person 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.      93 

as  Binwell.  It  implied  a  friendship  for  him 
which  he  knew  they  did  not  feel,  and  an  in 
dorsement  of  him  which  they  were  not  pre 
pared  to  give.  Secure  in  their  own  sense  of 
rectitude  and  good  repute  this  possibility  of 
a  decline  in  public  esteem  had  never,  he  was 
sure,  occurred  to  them.  Alas,  Rosamondy, 
he  heartily  regretted  that  she  had  ever  put 
her  dimpled  foot  across  their  threshold,  and 
yet  he  stipulated  again  within  himself  that 
it  was  not  in  his  heart  to  wish  any  houseless 
creatures  out  of  the  shelter  they  had  found. 

He  had  a  vague  terror  of  this  false  position 
in  which  the  family  was  placed.  He  knew, 
with  suddenly  awakened  forecast,  that  the 
antagonism  to  Jerry  Binwell  would  not  end 
here.  Old  Corbin's  spleen  that  might  once 
have  passed  for  naught  was  now  rendered  a 
valid  and  righteous  anger  in  public  opinion, 
and  he  would  have  the  sympathy  and  aid  of 
all  the  country-side.  But  how  or  why,  in  the 
name  of  justice,  could  it  include  his  father 
and  his  blind  uncle,  who  had  done  naught 
after  all  but  feed  the  hungry,  and  forgive  the 
enemy,  and  house  the  roofless  vagrant. 


94   THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

He  lingered  for  a  time  after  old  Corbin  had 
gone  to  Sawyer's  house  to  get  "  a  bite  an'  rest 
his  bones,"  listening  to  the  younger  men  dis 
cuss  the  incident,  and  comment  on  Bin  well's 
strength. 

When  Ike  at  last  rose  and  started,  Skimpy 
started  too. 

"  Skimp !  "  called  the  storekeeper  after  him, 
"  yer  mam  's  got  suthin'  fur  ye  to  do  at  the 
house.  Go  thar !  " 

Skimpy  obediently  turned  from  the  road 
into  the  by-path  and  Ike  went  on,  his  heart 
swelling  with  indignation  and  his  eyes  hot 
with  tears.  He  knew  that  his  friend  was  to 
be  withheld  from  his  association  after  this, 
lest  he  might  come  under  the  influence  of  so 
worthless  and  injurious  an  example  as  Jerry 
Binwell.  He  trudged  along  home,  wishing 
that  his  father  might  have  beheld  the  scene 
and  wondering  if  that  would  have  urged  him 
to  take  some  decided  action  in  the  case. 

Ike  had  an  odd  indisposition  to  relate  it  all. 
He  had  been  trained  in  a  maxim,  —  good 
enough  so  far  as  it  goes,  —  "  If  you  can 't  say 
anything  kind  of  your  neighbor,  say  noth- 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.       95 

ing."  The  only  manifestation  of  his  opinion 
was  expressed  in  deeds,  not  in  words.  His 
mother  had  looked  sharply  at  him  from  time 
to  time  during  the  past  week,  and  this  after 
noon,  as  she  opened  suddenly  the  shed-room 
door  and  saw  him  casting  down  a  great  pile  of 
bark,  and  chips,  and  sticks  of  wood,  ready  for 
the  morning  fires,  she  said  unexpectedly: 

"  Ike,  ain't  ye  ailin'  nowhar  ?  " 

"  Naw  'm,"  he  replied,  drawing  himself  up 
with  stalwart  pride,  "  I  feel  ez  solid  an'  sound 
ez  a  rock." 

"  I  'lowed  ye  mus'  be  sick  —  ye  'pear  so 
sober-faced,  an'  occupy  yerself  no  ways 
sca'cely,  'cept  in  workin'  —  tendin'  on  the 
wood-pile,  an'  packin'  the  water,  an'  drivin' 
the  cow-critter.  I  ain't  hed  ez  much  wood 
hyar  ter  burn,  nor  water  ter  cook  with,  nor 
the  cow  ez  constant  at  the  bars,  fur  ten  year." 

Ike  turned  and  glanced  reflectively  about 
him.  The  mountain,  gorgeous  in  autumnal 
array,  loomed  above  ;  a  blue  sky  looked  pen 
sively  down ;  some  aerial  craft  had  spread  a 
cloud-sail,  and  the  wind  was  fair. 

"  I  never  'lowed  ter  feel  sech  pleasure  in  a 


96       THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

•wood-pile,"  he  said,  meditatively.  "  I  hev 
made  up  my  mind  ez  I  ain't  a-goin'  ter  onder- 
take  to  be  a  shirk  in  this  world." 

She  understood  him  instantly.  As  the  door 
swung  a  little  ajar  she  looked  back  over  her 
shoulder  through  the  shed-room  into  the  main 
room  of  the  cabin.  Binwell  was  not  there  ; 
no  one  was  visible  in  the  ruddy  glare  of  the 
fire  illuminating  the  brown  walls  but  the  lit 
tle  Rosamond  and  the  blind  man.  She  had 
elected  to  consider  herself  some  neighing, 
prancing  steed,  and  Abner  held  her  by  one 
long,  golden  curl,  that  served  as  reins.  A 
short  tether,  to  be  sure,  but  she  curveted,  and 
stamped,  and  laughed  as  few  horses  have  ever 
done.  The  reflection  of  her  merriment  was 
in  the  smile  on  the  blind  man's  face.  Her 
very  shadow  was  glad,  as  it  sported  with  the 
firelight  on  the  floor. 


VI. 

THEEE  is  nothing  so  conducive  to  happi 
ness  as  work  —  work  done  well  and  willingly. 
It  is  in  itself  happiness.  Ike  wondered  to 
find,  as  he  bent  his  mind  and  all  his  energy  to 
his  simple  tasks  —  grown  strangely  light  and 
seeming  few  —  how  little  he  suffered  from  his 
exclusion  from  his  friend's  society  and  from 
the  unjust  discrimination  made  against  him  for 
no  fault  of  his  ;  how  amply  his  duty  filled  his 
horizon,  and  presently  arrayed  itself  in  the 
glad  garb  of  pleasure.  He  sang  —  he  could 
but  sing  —  as  he  wielded  the  axe,  as  he  fed 
the  stock,  as  he  went  back  and  forth  on  his 
errands  through  the  lonely  woods,  sometimes 
hearing  the  voice  of  Keedon  Bluffs  singing 
too,  in  fitful  and  fugue-like  response. 

Nevertheless,  he  was  glad  enough  to  be  re 
assured  of  his  friend's  loyalty  in  their  enforced 
separation,  for  when  they  presently  met  by 
accident  Skimpy  seized  upon  him  eagerly, 


98       THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

"  Ye  ain't  holdin'  no  gredge  ag'in  me,  air 
ye,  Ike?  I  couldn't  liolp  it;  ye  know  I 
could  n't." 

This  accidental  meeting  occurred  one  even 
ing  when  all  the  boys  of  Tanglefoot  Cove 
and  the  mountain  slopes  had  gathered  for  a 
coon-hunt.  The  Sawyer  lads  were  of  the 
party,  Skimpy  and  three  brothers,  all  much 
alike,  all  long-legged,  red-haired,  freckled- 
faced  fellows,  and  not  fascinating  to  look 
upon,  but  they  took  a  great  deal  of  pleasure 
in  themselves,  and  there  was  considerable 
boy-nature  to  the  square  inch  in  these  four 
Sawyers.  They  were  first-rate  comrades  too; 
could  both  take  a  joke  and  make  one  ;  all  had 
bright,  honest,  steady  brown  eyes,  and  they 
were  evidently  destined  to  grow  better  look 
ing  as  they  grew  older.  With  one  exception 
they  were  clad  in  whole,  stout  homespun  gar 
ments,  well  woven  and  well  made,  for  their 
mother  was  a  peculiarly  precise,  neat,  and  in 
dustrious  woman.  Skimpy  was  the  excep 
tion  ;  his  elbows  were  out ;  his  ankles  could 
not  wait  for  his  trousers  to  grow,  so  they 
showed  themselves,  right  nimble  and  sturdy 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.   99 

members,  although  the  garment,  which  was 
blue,  had  been  encouraged  lengthwise  with 
a  fresh  contrasting  piece  of  copper-colored 
jeans ;  his  knees  bulged  against  the  thread 
bare  cloth  in  a  way  that  intimated  they  would 
not  long  be  able  to  shelter  themselves  in  their 
flimsy  retirement.  He  and  his  mother  found 
it  difficult  to  reconcile  their  diverse  theories 
of  the  uses  and  the  care  of  clothes.  Although 
serious  enough  when  they  climaxed,  these 
differences  had  no  depressing  effect  on  Skim 
py 's  spirits,  and  did  not  suffice  to  save  his 
wardrobe.  He  harbored  no  unfilial  resent 
ment,  but  he  thought  his  mother  a  very  queer 
and  particular  woman. 

The  Sawyers  had  brought  with  them  the 
dutiful  clerk,  who  was  also  preeminent  as  a 
coon-dog.  There  he  sat  in  his  yellow  hide, 
decorated  with  his  slit  ear,  and  his  docked 
tail,  and  his  half-closed  eyelid.  When  away 
from  the  store  his  demeanor  lacked  the  urban 
ity  which  characterized  him  there.  He  bore 
himself  now  with  the  surly  air  of  a  magnate 
whose  affability  has  been  swallowed  up  in  the 
consciousness  of  importance. 


100  THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

The  Sawyers  specially  piqued  themselves 
on  being  the  proud  possessors  of  Bose.  Every 
now  and  then  one  would  reverently  glance  at 
the  animal,  as  he  sat  upright  lolling  out  an 
indifferent  tongue,  and  say  to  those  unac 
quainted  with  him  —  "  Mind  how  ye  fool 
with  Bose  —  he 's  sharp  "  (with  an  excited  eye 
and  a  wag  of  the  red  head)  ;  "  he  's  mighty 
fierce."  And  the  other  Sawyers  would  nod 
their  heads  in  confirmation  of  this  report  of 
Bose's  belligerent  qualities.  They  had  a  sort 
of  hero-worshiping  reverence  for  this  trait  of 
dog-sharpness,  but  any  one  who  did  not  think 
respectfully  of  Bose  was  some  one  who  did 
not  care  to  go  coon-hunting.  He  was  the 
central  figure  of  the  group  that  had  collected 
in  the  woods  by  a  sulphur  spring,  on  a  slope 
of  one  of  the  minor  ridges  at  the  base  of  the 
Great  Smoky.  The  early  dusk  had  not  yet 
fallen,  but  the  shadows  were  lengthening  fast, 
and  night  was  on  the  way.  The  boughs  of 
the  trees  above  their  heads  were  drawn  in 
fine  distorted  lines  on  a  crimson  sky  ;  here 
and  there  a  slant  of  sunshine  fell  amongst 
the  brown  shadows  upon  some  red  and  yel- 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.    101 

low  fantasy  of  foliage  that  so  blazed  with 
color  and  light  in  its  dusky  surroundings 
that  it  might  seem  some  outburst  of  fire 
which  had  been  slyly  "  set  out  "  in  the 
woods. 

The  sulphur  spring  had  sought  to  hide  itself, 
it  might  seem.  Across  a  narrow,  rocky  cleft 
lay  a  great  flat  slab,  and  a  rill  trickled  away 
somewhere ;  no  one  would  have  imagined  that 
beneath  this  slab  was  a  spring  with  brown 
crystalline  water,  and  a  vibrant  whisper,  and 
some  exquisite  perfumed  breath  of  freshness 
borrowed  from  the  dawn  of  day.  The  dogs 
knew  where  it  was,  running  to  it  with  lolling 
tongues  and  with  much  affectation  of  thirst, 
yet  wanting  only  a  drop  or  two.  For  other 
dogs  were  there  and  they  seemed  to  have  heard 
and  to  have  profited  by  the  Sawyers'  account 
of  Bose,  or  perhaps  the  dignity  of  his  mien 
awed  them,  or  experience  admonished  them, 
for  none  of  them  molested  him,  although  they 
became  involved  in  noisy  fights  with  each 
other,  or  gambols  as  turbulent.  The  boys, 
ten  or  twelve  in  number,  all  had  cow-horns 
to  blow  and  torches  to  carry,  and  while  they 


102     THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

waited  for  certain  cronies  to  arrive  the  talk 
was  chiefly  of  the  subject  that  had  brought 
them  together.  The  coon  seemed  a  fasci 
nating  study  apart  from  his  great  gifts  of  ce 
lerity.  Mentally  he  is  generously  endowed. 
If  Skimpy  might  be  believed  the  coon  can 
do  anything  short  of  reading,  writing,  and  ci 
phering. 

"  Even  mam,  she  hev  ter  'low  ez  coons 
ain't  lackin'  fur  head-stuffin',"  he  remarked, 
as  he  stood  with  his  arms  akimbo.  "  You-uns 
know  the  kind  o'  ways  mam  hev  gin  herself 
over  ter  —  a-sweepin',  an'  a-scourin',  an' 
a-cleanin',  till  I  actially  looks  ter  see  ef  she 
won't  take  ter  washin'  the  chickens'  faces  an' 
curryin'  the  cat.  Waal,  Cousin  Eph  Bates, 
he  stopped  thar  one  day  with  his  pet  coon. 
An'  mam  she  made  him  welcome  an'  set  out 
the  table.  An'  mam,  she  'lowed  the  coon 
mus'  be  hongry,  so  she  called  it  an'  gin  it  a 
nice  piece  o'  corn  dodger.  What 's  that  coon 
do  ?  "  he  cried,  his  eyes  widening  with  the  in 
terest  of  the  recital.  "  Popped  up  on  the 
aidge  o'  the  drinkin'  pail  an'  ondertook  ter 
wash  that  thar  piece  o'  dodger  'twixt  his  fore 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.  103 

paws,  'fore  he  would  eat  it.  I  wish  ye  could 
hev  seen  mam's  face.  I  laffed  till  I  like  ter 
drapped  in  my  tracks.  An'  Cousin  Eph  — 
he  jes'  hollered.  An'  mam,  she  hed  furgot, 
ef  she  ever  knowed,  how  coons  do;  she  say, 
'  Cousin  Eph,  ye  need  n't  bring  no  sech  per- 
tic'lar  vis' tor  ter  my  house  ag'in  —  a-washin' 
the  clean  vittles  /  gin  him.'  Thar  sot  the 
coon,  ez  onconsarned,  a-washin'  his  hands  an' 
a-washin'  the  dodger."  Skimpy  suited  the  ac 
tion  to  the  words  and  teetered  up  and  down, 
washing  his  paws  and  an  imaginary  piece  of 
corn  dodger.  "I  laffed  an'  laffed.  That 
coon  like  ter  been  the  death  o'  me  'fore  he  got 
away  from  thar." 

"I  know  that  thar  coon  o'  Eph  Bates's," 
cried  Ike.  "I  stayed  up  ter  his  house  one 
night  along  o'  his  chill'n  an'  'twar  bright 
moonlight  whenst  I  went  ter  bed  in  the  roof- 
room,  but  after  a  while  I  woke  up  an'  I  'lowed 
'twar  a  hailstorm  goin'  on  outside  on  the  roof. 
Ye  never  hearn  sech  a  skedaddlin'  up  an' 
down  them  clapboards.  Kem  ter  find  out, 
'twar  nuthin'  but  the  coon  a-playin'  tag  with 
his  shadder  in  the  moonlight." 


104     THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

"  Oh,  he  's  powerful  tricky,  Mister  Coon 
air,"  Skimpy  declared,  his  freckled  face  dis 
tended  with  relish  of  Mr.  Coon's  smartness. 
"  Mam  an'  Cousin  Eph  hed  sot  tharselfs  down 
afore  the  fire  an'  got  ter  talkin'  'bout'n  the 
folkses  in  the  Cove,  an'  how  mighty  few  o' 
'em  had  enny  sech  religion  ez  they  purtended 
ter  hev,  when  mam  she  put  her  hand  in  her 
pocket  fur  ter  git  her  knittin'.  An'  there 
warn't  nuthin'  in  her  pocket  but  a  ball  o' 
yarn.  An'  she  looked  up,  an'  thar  war  a 
great  long  e-end  o'  it  a-stretchin'  ter  the  door. 
An'  thar  on  the  steps  sot  Mister  Coon  with 
them  knittin'  needles,  an'  the  sock,  a-holdin' 
'em  like  he  war  knittin',  ez  onconsarned  —  oh 
my  !  I  laffed  ag'in." 

"  I  '11  bet  yer  mam  did  n't  laff,"  said  an  in 
timate  of  the  family. 

"  Naw,"  Skimpy  admitted.  "  Mam,  she  's 
mighty  sober-sided.  She  'd  like  the  coon  bet 
ter  ef  he  wore  spec's  an'  cut  wood.  Cousin 
Eph,  he  axed  her  how  many  rows  that  coon 
knit.  An'  mam,  she  said  —  ''None  !  He 
drug  two  needles  bodaciously  out  an'  spiled 
fower  rows.'  Mam  'lowed  ez  she  thought  she 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.  105 

hed  the  mos'  miscliievious  created  critter  — 
meanin'  me  —  but  she  said  she  b'lieved  Cousin 
Eph  mought  take  the  premium.  An'  Cousin 
Eph,  he  said  enny  time  she  war  minded  ter 
swap  he  'd  trade  the  coon  fur  me.  An'  mam, 
she  cut  her  eye  round  at  me  an'  tole  me  I  hed 
better  mend  my  manners  ;  the  mounting  would 
talk  mightily  'bout  me  ef  I  war  traded  off  fur 
a  coon  'thout  enny  boot." 

"  That  thar  mus'  be  the  same  coon  ez  Cou 
sin  Eph  Bates  fetched  along  o'  him  ter  the 
store  when  he  kem  ter  trade,  las'  summer," 
said  Obadiah,.  the  eldest  Sawyer.  "  An'  dad, 
he  tole  Cousin  Eph  ter  holp  hisself.  An'  no 
body  noticed  the  coon  till  Cousin  Eph  war 
ready  ter  go,  an'  tuk  ter  huntin'  fur  him.  I 
don't  reckon  that  coon  could  surely  hev  thunk 
ez  dad  meant  it  fur  him  whenst  he  told  Cousin 
Eph  ter  holp  hisself.  But  leastwise  the  coon 
done  it ;  he  holped  his-selL  They  fund  him 
propped  up  on  the  aidge  o'  the  sugar  bar'l, 
an'  they  say  the  way  his  whiskers  war  gormed 
with  sugar  war  a  sight  ter  be  seen.  He  hed 
n't  no  expression  ter  his  face,  an'  he  looked 
plumb  cross-eyed  with  pleasure.  Sugar  in  his 


106     THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

paws,  too,  and  dad  kerried  on  like  he  war 
mighty  nigh  demented.  An'  he  wanted 
Cousin  Eph  ter  pay  for  that  sugar  the  coon 
hed  eat,  an'  said  he  wanted  that  thai*  coon's 
skin.  But  Cousin  Eph,  he  snatched  his  coon 
up  under  his  arm  an'  'lowed  he  mought  ez  well 
try  ter  trade  fur  one  o'  his  chill'ii's  hides.  I 
b'lieve  he  gin  dad  some  money  or  suthin', 
though.  He  sot  out  arter  that  with  his  coon 
fur  home." 

"Waal,  he  war  n't  so  'fectionate  with  that 
thar  coon  las'  time  I  seen  him,"  Ike  added  his 
testimony.  "  'Twar  over  yander  at  the  church- 
house  in  the  gap.  An'  whilst  the  folks  war 
settin'  inside,  a-listenin'  ter  the  preachin', 
we-uns  hearn  the  biggest  rumpus  outside 
'mongst  the  teams,  an'  everybody  looked 
plumb  wretched,  wonderin'  ef  'twar  suthin' 
hed  happened  ter  thar  steer  or  horse  critter. 
An'  dad  whispered  ter  me  ter  go  out  an'  see. 
An'  thar,  'mongst  all  the  wagins,  an'  yokes  o' 
oxen,  an'  saddle  horses  under  the  trees,  war  a 
young  claybank  horse  ez  b'long  ter  Eph  Bates. 
An'  that  thar  coon  he  had  slyed  off  an'  follered 
his  master  ter  the  church-house,  an'  stiddier 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.    107 

goin'  inside — it's  a  mercy  he  didn't  —  he 
seen  Eph's  horse,  an'  he  clomb  the  tree,  an' 
drapped  down  on  the  pommel  o'  the  saddle. 
Waal,  sir,  sech  kickin'  !  that  horse  war  young 
an'  skeery ;  sech  squealin' !  An'  whenst  I 
seen  him  he  war  tremblin'  like  he  hed  a  fit  o' 
the  ague,  an'  then  he  'd  turn  his  head  an'  git 
a  glimge  o'  that  thar  citizen  in  the  saddle,  an' 
begin  ter  plunge  an'  shy  an'  snort  ag'in.  Jes' 
'fore  I  got  ter  him  he  bruk  his  halter,  an'  he 
lit  out;  around  an'  around  that  thar  church- 
house  he  went  a-cavortin'  an'  a-gallopin',  Mis 
ter  Coon  settin'  in  the  saddle,  a-holdin'  on  fur 
life,  an'  a-smilin'  from  ear  to  ear.  An'  the 
folks  in  the  church-house  seen  what  war 
a-goin'  on,  an'  Eph  an'  some  o'  them  nigh  the 
door  run  out  an'  hollered,  '  Whoa  !  Whoa !' 
at  the  horse.  Did  n't  do  no  good.  Ez  soon 
ez  the  critter  seen  he  could  n't  shake  the  coon 
off  he  bolted  an'  run  through  the  woods.  Eph, 
he  walked  home  that  Sunday,  five  mile,  but 
Mister  Coon,  he  rid." 

"  Oh,  Mister  Coon,  oh,  Mister  Coon," 
Skimpy  was  murmuring,  and  presently  he 
broke  into  song :  — 


108     THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

"  Bob  Snooks,  he  eat  up  all  in  his  plate, 
An'  he  dreampt  a  dream  that  night  right  late. 
A-settin1  on  a  cloud  war  a  big  raccoon, 
A-eatin'  an'  a-washin'  his  paws  in  the  moon. 
'Twar  brimmin'  full  o'  clabber  an'  whey. 
His  tail  war  ringed  with  black  an'  gray ; 
It  hung  plumb  down  ter  the  poplar-tree, 
An'  he  wagged  it  up  an'  down  in  glee. 

CHORUS. 

"  Oh,  Mister  Coon  !  oh,  Mister  Coon, 
Oh,  take  them  dirty  paws  out  'n  the  moon. 

"  He  looked  at  Bob,  ter  wink  an'  grin, 
An'  then  Bob  say  — '  Ez  sure  ez  sin 
I'll  yank  ye  off  'n  the  aidge  o'  that  moon, 
Though  ye  air  a  mos'  surprisin'  coon.' 
Bob  sicked  on  Towse  —  Towse  clomb  the  tree  ! 
An'  grabbed  the  coon  right  nat'rally. 
An'  suddint  Bob  woke  —  thar  war  no  raccoon, 
Bob  wisht  he  hed  lef  him  up  thar  on  the  moon. 

CHORUS. 

"  Oh,  Mister  Coon  !  oh,  Mister  Coon, 
Oh,  why  can't  ye  once  more  balance  on  the  moon." 

It  was  quite  dark  before  they  were  fairly 
started.  The  shadows  gloomed  thick  about 
them.  The  stars  were  in  the  sky.  The 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.  109 

sound  of  the  boyish  voices  whooping  and  call 
ing,  and  singing  snatches  of  the  coon-song, 
echoed  far  and  wide  among  the  solemn  woods 
and  the  listening  rocks.  The  dogs  answered 
to  the  eager  urgency  of  their  masters  by 
wheezing  and  snuffing  about  the  ground  as 
they  ran  with  their  muzzles  down,  but  the 
best  among  them,  even  the  preeminent  Bose, 
could  conjure  no  coon  where  no  coon  was. 

"  What  ails  'em  ter  take  ter  sech  a  piece  o' 
briars,"  Skimpy  cried  out  suddenly  with  an 
accompaniment  of  a  ripping  sound.  "  Ef  I 
tear  up  these  hyar  clothes  o'  mine  enny  mo' 
I  '11  hev  some  rents  ter  mend  in  my  skin,  fur 
my  mother  hev  sot  it  down  ef  I  gin  her  so 
many  repairs  ter  make  she  '11  gin  me  some." 

This  terrifying  prospect  did  not  unduly 
alarm  Skimpy  nor  hinder  his  joyous  pursuit 
of  the  coon.  He  was  the  first  fellow  to  fall 
into  the  briars  and  to  flounder  into  the  branch. 
His  nimble  feet  followed  more  closely  than 
any  others  their  canine  precursors.  It  was 
he  who  cried  out  and  encouraged  the  dogs 
and  kept  them  together,  and  even  the  self- 
sufficient  and  experienced  Bose  hearkened  to 


110     THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

his  counsel  and  lent  himself  to  guidance. 
Skimpy  was  close  upon  the  docked  tail  of  this 
animal  when  suddenly  the  wheezing  Bose 
emitted  a  short  sharp  cry  and  sprang  off  in 
the  darkness  with  all  the  dogs  after  him. 


VII. 

THE  moon  was  just  beginning  to  rise.  A 
vague  red  glow  suffused  the  summit  of  the 
eastern  mountains.  It  hardly  revealed,  but  in 
some  sort  it  suggested,  the  presence  of  the 
vast  forests  of  the  Cove,  that  still  stood  dusky 
and  gloomily  mysterious.  The  solemn  silence, 
native  to  the  solitudes,  was  for  the  nonce  an 
nihilated.  The  whole  night  seemed  to  ring 
with  the  shouting  triumph  of  the  boys.  The 
cry  of  the  dogs  was  unintermittent.  Naught 
impeded  the  wild  chase,  save  that  now  and 
then  a  projecting  root  caught  an  unwary  foot, 
and  a  boy  would  go  crashing  to  the  ground, 
his  companions  jumping  over  his  prostrate 
form,  or  perhaps  falling  upon  him,  then 
scrambling  up  together  and  away  again  hila 
riously.  Sometimes  a  horn  would  sound,  and 
if  one  had  cared  to  listen  he  might  have  won 
dered  to  hear  the  countless  blasts  that  the 
echoes  wound,  or  laughed  to  fancy  how  that 


112  THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

mimic  chase  in  the  air  did  fare.  Sometimes, 
too,  a  voice  would  call  out  from  the  van  of 
the  line,  "  Oh,  Mister  Coon  !  "  And  anon 
Keedon  Bluffs  repeated  the  words  in  a  sol 
emn  staccato,  as  it'  they  were  some  uncompre- 
hended  incantation.  "  Oh,  Mister  Coon  !  " 

What  that  gentleman  thought  of  it  all  no 
body  can  say.  Whether  he  resented  the  fact 
that  his  coat  was  considered  too  good  for  him, 
and  just  good  enough  for  a  cap  for  somebody 
else  ;  or  whether  he  felt  complimented  that  he 
was  esteemed  so  game  that  it  was  accounted  a 
pleasure  to  see  him  fight,  singly,  a  score  of  sav 
age  dogs,  and  die  in  the  jaws  of  the  enemies  he 
crippled,  nobody  will  ever  know.  The  only  cer 
tain  thing  is  that  he  carried  his  fat  and  his  fur, 
and  his  palpitating  identity  inside  of  them,  as 
fast  and  as  far  as  he  could.  And  then  in  des 
peration  he  swiftly  climbed  a  tree,  and  sat 
there  panting,  looking  down  with  eyes  whose 
dilated  pupils  defied  the  night,  to  mark  how 
the  fierce  rout  came  at  full  cry  over  the  rise. 
The  boys  knew  what  he  had  done,  notwith 
standing  the  dark  forests  that  intervened,  for 
the  dogs  announced  in  loud  and  joyful  barks 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.    113 

that  the  coon  was  treed  as  they  besieged  the 
oak,  springing  as  high  as  they  could  about  its 
trunk.  There  was  a  chorus,  "  Oh,  Mister 
Coon  !  "  from  the  hunters  as  they  came  pelt 
ing  over  the  hill,  almost  dead  beat  with  the 
run.  For  the  coon  had  footed  it  bravely,  and 
treeing  him  was  long  delayed. 

The  torches,  skimming  swiftly  about  under 
the  oak,  which  was  close  upon  a  precipice, 
flared  in  the  darkness  far  along  the  slopes,  and 
the  coon  hunt  glimpsed  from  the  distant  cove 
was  like  an  errant  constellation,  run  away 
from  the  skies.  Nearer,  flame  and  smoke 
flaunted  back  in  the  wind,  showing  the  colors 
of  a  limited  section  of  the  autumn  woods  close 
about,  and  thus  con j  uring  an  oasis  of  gorgeous 
brilliance  in  that  desert  of  gloom.  In  the  ra 
diance  of  the  fringed  flaring  lights  might  be 
distinguished,  in  high  relief  against  the  dusky 
background,  Ike's  eager  face,  and  Skimpy's 
hatchet-like  features,  —  as  he  bent  to  beseech 
Bose  to  calm  himself  instead  of  bounding 
futilely  about  the  tree  which  he  could  not 
climb  like  the  dream-dog,  —  and  the  muscular 
poses  of  Obadiah  Sawyer,  who  wielded  the  axe 


114    THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

about  the  trunk  of  the  tree.  How  the  echoes 
answered  !  How  the  rocks  rang  with  the  stal 
wart  strokes  !  The  chips  flew  with  every  cleav 
age.  The  dogs  leaped,  and  barked  on  every 
shrill  key  of  impatience.  The  coon,  barely 
visible,  crouched  in  the  dai'kness,  growled, 
and  looked  down  on  his  boisterous  enemies. 
"  Keep  out  'n  the  way  o'  this  axe,  I  tell  ye," 
Obadiah  Sawyer  would  cry  as  the  backward 
motion  would  threaten  one  of  the  boys  or  their 
four-footed  comrades,  who  pressed  so  close 
about  the  tree  as  to  lose  all  sense  of  safety. 

Suddenly,  without  any  warning,  the  trunk 
of  the  tree  not  half  severed,  the  coon  ran  down 
almost  over  Obadiah  into  the  midst  of  the 
dogs.  There  was  a  frantic  plunge  amongst 
them ;  a  fierce  growling  and  yelping  and  snap 
ping  ;  a  crunching  of  teeth ;  and  now  and 
then  as  one  suffered  the  sharp  fangs  of  the 
coon,  a  hideous  clamor  that  seemed  to  pierce 
the  sky. 

The  boys  stood  amazed  at  this  innovation 
on  the  part  of  Mr.  Coon,  whose  sense  of  eti 
quette  does  not  usually  permit  him  to  tackle 
the  dogs  until  the  falling  of  the  tree  throws 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.    115 

the  hapless  creature  into  their  jaws.  How  he 
distinguished  the  sound  in  all  that  shrill  tu 
mult  Skimpy  could  never  say;  —  a  low  growl, 
exceeding  in  ferocity  aught  he  had  ever  before 
heard,  caught  his  attention.  He  moved  back 
a  pace  and  held  the  torch  aloft.  There,  upon 
the  bole  of  the  tree,  slowly  descending  from 
limb  to  limb,  with  lissome  noiseless  tread, 
with  great  yellow  eyes,  illuminated  by  the 
flare,  was  a  full-grown  female  panther,  made 
bold  enough  to  face  the  light  by  the  immi 
nence  of  the  danger,  for  the  cutting  down  of 
the  tree  meant  certain  dislodgment  amongst 
the  dogs  and  the  boys.  This  was  the  denizen 
of  the  oak,  the  discovery  of  whom  had  made 
the  coon  prefer  the  dogs. 

Skimpy  needed  but  a  single  glance.  He 
said  afterward  that  it  flashed  upon  him  in  a 
moment  that  the  animal's  young  were  perhaps 
in  a  crevice  of  the  great  wall  of  rock  close  at 
hand,  and  that  for  this  reason  she  had  not  fled 
from  the  noise  and  the  lights.  Skimpy  dashed 
his  torch  to  the  ground,  and  crying  "  Painter ! 
Painter ! "  he  set  out  at  a  pace  which  has  sel 
dom  been  excelled.  All  the  torches  were 


116     THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

flared  upward.  The  creature  glared  down  at 
the  boys  and  growled.  There  was  not  a  gun 
in  the  party.  Obadiah  in  a  sort  of  mental 
aberration  flung  his  axe  into  the  tree  ;  it  al 
most  grazed  the  animal's  nose,  then  fell  upon 
the  back  of  a  yelping  dog. 

Each  boy  seemed  to  announce  his  flight  by 
taking  up  the  panic-stricken  cry  of  "  Painter !  " 
The  dogs  had  discovered  that  more  had  been 
treed  than  the  coon,  which  at  last  had  been 
killed.  They  would  not  heed  the  whistlings 
and  the  callings  of  their  masters,  and  as  the 
boys  ran  a  tremendous  yelping  and  growling 
announced  that  the  panther  had  sprung  from 
the  tree  amidst  the  pack.  Presently  some 
thing,  with  its  tail  between  its  legs,  shot  by 
the  hindmost  boy,  and  another,  and  yet  an 
other.  The  dogs  had  felt  the  panther's  teeth 
and  claws  and  were  leaving,  but  none  of  these 
fugitives  was  Bose. 

"  Oh,"  cried  Skimpy,  "  le  's  go  back  —  le  's 
go  back  —  Bose  will  be  bodaciously  eat  up  ! 
Le 's  go  back  an'  call  Bose  off  !  " 

"Call  the  painter  on,  ye  mean  !  "  exclaimed 
Ike.  "  Ye  can't  do  nuthin'  ter  hurt  a  painter 
'thout  ye  hed  a  gun  !  " 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.    117 

"  Oh  Bose ! "  plained  another  of  the  Saw 
yers  in  a  heart-wrung  voice.  "  What  '11  mam 
do  'thout  Bose  !  Sech  a  shepherd !  Sech  a 
dog  ter  take  keer  o'  the  baby,  too !  Sech  a 
gyard  dog  ! "  For  Bose's  virtues  were  not 
all  belligerent,  but  shone  resplendent  in  times 
of  peace.  "  Oh  Bose"  he  shrieked  down  the 
wind,  "  let  the  painter  be  !  " 

"  Oh  Bose ! "  cried  Obadiah  in  a  tone  of 
obituary.  "  Sech  a  coon  dog !  Bose  I  An'  a 
swimmer !  Bose  !  How  he  used  ter  drive  up 
the  cow  !  Oh,  Bose  !  " 

"  Ye  talk  like  nobody  in  the  mountings  hed 
a  dog  but  you-uns,"  panted  one  of  the  fleeing 
hunters.  "Ye  ought  ter  be  thankful  ye  air 
out'n  the  painter's  jaws  —  'thout  no  gun !  " 

"  Oh,  Bose  ain't  no  common  dog ! "  cried 
the  bereaved  Skimpy  ;  "  Bose  is  like  folks  ! 
Bose  is  folks  !  "  rising  to  the  apotheosis  of 
grief. 

He  did  not  run  like  folks.  Deserted  both 
by  boys  and  dogs  he  had  bravely  encountered 
the  panther.  It  required  not  only  a  broken 
rib  and  repeated  grips  of  the  creature's  teeth, 
but  the  stealthy  approach  of  its  mate  to  con- 


118    THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

vince  Bose  how  grievously  he  was  over 
matched.  Then  this  gifted  dog,  whose  prow 
ess  was  only  exceeded  by  his  intelligence,  saw 
that  it  was  time  to  run.  He  passed  the  boys 
with  the  action  of  a  canine  meteor.  He  sought 
the  seclusion  beneath  the  house  and  he  did 
not  leave  it  for  days. 

When  Ike  struck  into  the  road  that  leads 
by  Keedon  Bluffs  he  was  feeling  considerably 
nettled  by  the  result  of  the  adventure,  and 
resolved  that  hereafter  he  would  always  carry 
a  gun  for  any  presumable  panther  that  might 
hang  upon  the  outskirts  of  a  coon-hunt.  He 
walked  on  slowly  for  a  time,  sure  that  the 
panther  would  hardly  follow  so  far,  if  indeed 
she  had  followed  at  all.  He  listened  now  and 
then,  hearing  no  sound  of  the  hunt  or  of  the 
hunters.  It  was  growing  late,  he  knew  as  he 
glanced  at  the  sky.  The  moon  had  risen  high 
—  a  waning  moon  of  a  lustrous  reddish  tint, 
sending  long  shafts  of  yellow  light  down  the 
dusky  woods,  and,  despite  its  brightness,  of 
grewsome  and  melancholy  suggestions.  As 
the  road  turned  he  came  upon  the  great  Bluffs 
towering  above  the  river,  and  he  noted  the 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.    119 

spherical  amber  reflection  in  the  dark  current 
below,  with  trailing  lines  of  light  and  gilded 
ripples  seeming  to  radiate  from  it.  A  vague 
purple  nullity  had  blurred  the  familiar  dis 
tances,  but  close  at  hand  all  was  wonderfully 
distinct.  The  gloomy  forest  on  one  side  of  the 
road  drew  a  sharp  summit  line  along  the  sky. 
A  blackberry  bush,  denuded  of  all  but  a  few 
leaves,  was  not  more  definite  than  the  bram- 
bly  wands  of  its  shadow  on  the  sandy  road. 
As  he  drew  nearer  he  noted  how  dark  the 
water  was,  how  white  in  the  slant  of  the  yel 
low  moonlight  rose  the  great  sheer  sandstone 
Bluffs  ;  how  black,  how  distinct  were  the  cav 
ities  in  the  rock.  And  the  voiceless  beams 
played  about  the  old  cannon-ball  on  the  ledge. 
How  silent !  Only  his  crunching  tread,  half 
muffled  in  the  soft  sand ;  the  almost  imper 
ceptible  murmur  of  the  deep  waters ;  the 
shrilling  of  a  cricket  somewhere,  miraculously 
escaped  from  the  frost.  Near  midnight,  it 
must  have  been.  He  realized  how  tired  he 
was.  He  suddenly  sat  down  on  the  verge  of 
the  Bluffs,  his  feet  dangling  over,  and  leaned 
his  back  against  a  bowlder  behind  him. 


120    THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

He  drew  a  long  sigh  of  fatigue  and  gazed 
meditatively  below.  The  next  moment  he 
gave  a  quick  start.  There  along  the  ledges 
and  niches  of  the  great  Bluffs,  climbing  down 
diagonally  with  the  agility  of  a  cat,  was  a 
dark  figure,  that  at  the  instant  he  could  hardly 
recognize  as  beast  or  man  —  or  might  it  be 
some  mysterious  being  that  the  cavities  of  the 
rock  harbored  !  As  he  remembered  the  sto 
ries  of  the  witches  of  Keedon  Bluffs,  which  he 
had  flouted  and  scorned,  he  felt  a  cold  thrill 
quiver  through  every  limb. 

A  sharp  exclamation  escaped  his  lips.  In 
stantly  he  saw  the  climbing  creature  give  a 
great  start  and  then  stand  still  as  if  with  re 
sponsive  fright.  He  bent  forward  and  strained 
his  eyes. 

He  had  not  yet  recovered  his  normal  pulse ; 
his  heart  was  still  plunging  with  wild  throbs ; 
nevertheless  he  noted  keenly  every  movement 
of  the  strange  object,  and  as  it  turned  in  the 
direction  whence  came  the  intrusive  voice,  it 
looked  up  apprehensively.  Ike  said  nothing, 
but  gazed  down  into  the  pallid  face  lifted  in 
the  white  moonlight. 


VIII. 

"  HELLO  !  "  cried  out  the  figure. 

"Hello!  —hello!  — hello!"  the  echoing 
voices  of  Keedon  Bluffs  sepulchrally  hailed 
the  boy. 

Now  Ike  would  have  been  indignant  had 
some  one  suspected  him  of  being  afraid  of  the 
witches  of  the  Bluffs.  But  he  was  immensely 
relieved  by  this  form  of  address.  For  although 
he  had  never  held  intimate  converse  with 
witches  he  felt  sure  they  did  not  say  "  Hello !  " 

He  leaned  over  and  responded  in  a  sturdy 
tone  "  Hello,  yerse'f  !  " 

"  Hello  yerse'f  !  "  cried  out  the  prompt 
echoes.  Ike  drew  back  a  little.  Although  he 
had  acquitted  the  climbing  man  of  being  a 
witch,  he  could  not  repulse  an  odd  uncomfor 
table  feeling  that  scores  of  mischievous  invis 
ible  spirits  of  the  rock  were  assisting  at  the 
conversation.  He  could  imagine  that  they 
nudged  each  other  as  they  repeated  the  words. 


122     THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

Perhaps  they  all  fell  to  silently  laughing  when 
a  belated  voice  far  down  the  river  called  in 
a  doubtful  and  hesitant  tone,  "  Hello  yer- 
se'f  ! " 

"  Who 's  that  up  thar  ? "  demanded  the 
man,  still  looking  up. 

"  Ike  Guyther,"  the  boy  replied. 

He  could  not  accurately  distinguish  the 
sound,  so  confused  was  he  by  the  iteration 
of  the  meddlesome  echoes,  but  it  seemed  to 
him  that  the  man  uttered  a  sudden  gruff 
imprecation  at  the  revelation  of  his  name, 
and  surely  the  tell-tale  rocks  were  presently 
grumbling  in  an  uncertain  and  displeased 
undertone. 

Ike  strained  his  eyes  to  recognize  the  fea 
tures,  but  the  man  looked  down  suddenly  and 
coughed  dubiously. 

There  was  something  vaguely  familiar  in 
his  voice  that  might  have  served  to  establish 
his  identity  but  for  the  repetitious  sounds 
that  followed  every  word. 

"  What  air  ye  doin'  up  thar  ?  "  demanded 
the  man,  and  all  the  echoes  became  inquisi 
torial. 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.    123 

"  Been  a-coon-huntin'.  What  ye  doin' 
down  tliar?"  said  Ike,  at  last  thinking  it 
but  fair  that  he  should  ask  a  few  questions 
himself. 

The  white  face  was  once  more  turned 
downward,  and  the  man  coughed  and  seemed 
to  try  to  spit  out  his  doubt.  It  had  evidently 
not  occurred  to  him  that  he  himself  was 
unrecognized,  for  with  a  tone  that  indicated 
that  he  sought  to  make  the  best  of  an  awk 
ward  situation  he  said,  "  Why,  I  hearn  Ab 
talkin'  wunst  in  a  while  'bout  climbin'  down 
Keedon  Bluffs,  ter  that  old  cannon-ball  on 
that  ledge,  an'  I  'lowed  I  'd  try  ef  the  thing 
could  be  done — jes'  fur  fun — ha!  ha! 
Toler'ble  tough  fun,  though." 

The  vain  effort  at  jollity,  the  strained 
nervous  tone,  the  merciless  echoes  exagger 
ated  a  thousand  fold.  But  Ike  Guyther  sat 
unheeding,  more  perturbed  than  he  could 
well  have  expressed. 

It  was  Jerry  Binwell,  his  father's  guest. 
How  had  he  escaped,  Ike  wondered,  from 
the  roof  room  where  his  host  thought  he  lay 
sleeping?  Had  he  stolen  out  from  amongst 


124    THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

the  unconscious  family,  leaving  the  doors  ajar 
that  any  marauder  might  enter?  He  could  not. 
Old  Hiram  slept  as  lightly  as  a  cat,  and  the 
blind  man  was  often  wakeful  and  restless. 
And  what  could  be  his  object  here  in  the 
stealthy  midnight,  risking  life  and  limb  — 
nay,  neither!  Ike  Guyther,  watching  him 
climbing  —  with  the  frightful  depths  below 
into  which  a  false  step  would  instantly  pre 
cipitate  him  —  lost  that  morbid  and  nervous 
fascination  which  a  feat  of  great  danger 
induces  in  the  spectator,  and  began  sud 
denly  to  experience  a  sort  of  confidence, 
merging  into  certainty.  He  was  amazed  at 
the  lightness,  the  strength,  the  marvelous 
elasticity,  the  fine  precision  of  every  move 
ment.  Strain  credulity  as  he  might,  he  could 
not  believe  Bin  well  when  he  said  suddenly, 
"But  I  ain't  goin'  ter  try  it  enny  furder  — 
break  my  neck !  This  hyar  chicken  is  a-git- 
tin'  old  an'  stiff ;  could  n't  git  down  thar  ter 
save  my  life." 

He  climbed  up  and  up,  his  silent  shadow 
climbing  with  him  till  he  neared  the  spot 
where  Ike  sat,  when  he  suddenly  paused. 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.  125 

"Git  up,  Ike,"  he  said;  "that's  the  only 
place  whar  thar  's  purchase  enough  ter  pull 
up  by." 

He  evidently  knew  all  the  ground.  Ike 
dragged  himself  out  of  the  way,  and,  with 
his  hands  in  his  pockets,  stood  pensively 
watching  him  as  he  pulled  himself  to  the 
verge,  and  then  upon  his  knees,  and  so  to  his 
feet  on  the  roadside.  He  paused  for  a  mo 
ment,  panting.  He  looked  at  his  companion 
with  an  expression  which  had  no  relation  to 
the  words  on  his  lips.  Many  a  boy  might 
not  have  detected  this  yawning  gulf  between 
what  he  meant  and  what  he  said,  but  Ike's 
senses  were  sharpened  by  suspicion  and  anx 
iety. 

"  Whew !  Great  Molly  Har'  ! "  Jerry 
mopped  his  brow  with  his  red  cotton  hand 
kerchief.  "  I  'm  too  old  fur  sech  didoes  as 
this  hyar  —  old  man  's  a-goin'  fas'.  Knees 
plumb  bent.  Don't  ye  laff,  Ike  !  Don't  ye 
laff."  Ike  had  shown  no  sign  of  merriment. 
"An'  'fore  everything  don't  ye  tell  Ab  ez  I 
tried  ter  climb  down  Keedon  Bluffs  ter  that 
old  ball,  an'  could  n't.  I  would  n't  hev  the 


126  THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

mounting  ter  git  a-holt  o'  that  thar  joke  on 
me  fur  nuthin'  !  " 

He  looked  sharply  at  the  boy,  who  said  not 
a  word,  but  simply  stared  at  him  as  he  stood 
on  the  verge  of  the  Bluff  in  the  slanting 
melancholy  yellow  light  of  the  waning  moon. 
There  was  a  quiver  in  Binwell's  nostril,  a 
nervous  motion  of  the  lips,  a  keen  inimical 
gleam  of  the  eyes  under  his  hat  brim.  He 
was  giving  Ike  more  notice  than  he  had  ever 
before  bestowed  on  him. 

"  Hey  !  "  he  cried  jocularly,  clapping  the 
boy  on  the  shoulder,  "  don't  ye  tell  on  me, 
Ike  —  ye  won't,  will  ye  ?  " 

This  direct  appeal  brought  an  answer. 
But  Ike  was  on  his  guard. 

"  Mebbe  then  uncle  Ab  would  quit  thinkin' 
ez  how  he  could,"  he  said  cautiously. 

Jerry  Binwell  suddenly  changed  his  tactics. 

"  Tell  ennybody  ye  want  ter,  ye  wide- 
mouthed  shoat,  ye !  Ef  I  can't  climb  down 
thar  nobody  else  kin,  an'  nobody  air  a-goin' 
ter  try.  Got  too  tender  f eelin'a  fur  thar  necks. 
I  ain't  ashamed  o'  gittin'  old  nohow !  Ye  '11 
be  whar  I  am  some  day,  Ike,  ef  ye  don't  die 
fustf." 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.  127 

He  strode  on  ahead  with  a  deft  free  step. 
Ike,  doubtful  and  grievously  ill  at  ease,  fol 
lowed.  Come  what  might  he  felt  that  he 
would  tell  his  father  all,  and  let  him  solve 
the  mystery  about  this  strange  guest.  Then 
he  began  to  reflect  how  slight  this  "  all " 
was.  There  were  the  innuendoes  of  the 
men  at  the  store ;  but  his  father  knew  as 
well  as  he  how  little  Jerry  Binwell  had  been 
liked  in  his  early  youth,  how  strong  the  pre 
judice  remained.  The  affront  to  old  Corbin 
was  indeed  reprehensible,  but  as  to  climbing 
about  the  rocks  at  night  surely  any  one  might 
do  that  who  was  foolish  or  idle  or  nimble 
enough. 

Ike  was  surprised  that  although  he  found 
in  summing  up  there  was  no  positive  hein 
ous  wickedness  involved,  his  aversion  to  the 
man  remained  and  his  resolution  was  strong. 
He  would  tell  his  father  all  that  he  had 
heard,  that  he  had  seen.  He  would  shift 
the  responsibility.  His  shoulders  were  not 
strong  enough  to  carry  it. 

Jerry's  long,  lean  figure,  with  the  company 
of  his  longer  and  leaner  shadow  which  dogged 


128  THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

his  steps  like  some  pursuing  phantom  of  sor 
row  or  dismay  that  might  materialize  in  the 
fullness  of  time,  kept  steadily  down  the  road. 
He  made  no  pretense  of  silence  or  conceal 
ment,  but  whistled  blithely  and  loud —  a 
sound  to  pierce  the  pensive  hour  with  dis 
cordant  interruption.  Did  it  awaken  the 
birds  ?  A  peevish,  intermittent  chirring  rose 
drowsily  from  the  woods,  and  then  was  still, 
and  anon  sounded  again.  Or  was  it  that  the 
dawn  was  coming  hardily  upon  the  slowly 
departing  night,  long  lingering,  loath  to 
go  ?  The  moon  showed  no  paling  sign  ;  belts 
of  pearly  vapors,  catching  its  light,  were 
rising  from  the  furthest  reaches  of  the  pur 
ple  mountains.  And  here  the  river  was 
dark  and  deep  ;  and  there  it  flowed  in  trans 
lucent  amber  waves,  with  a  silver  flash  of 
foam,  all  the  brighter  for  the  shadow  of  the 
rock  hard  by.  And  now  it  was  out  of  sight 
and  there  were  the  long  stretches  of  the  fa 
miliar  woods  on  either  hand,  with  no  sugges 
tion  of  the  vivid  tints  of  autumn,  only  a 
dusky  black  alternating  with  a  gleaming  gold 
strewn  like  the  largess  of  a  dream  fantasy  all 
a-down  the  winding  ways. 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.    129 

Morning  surely ;  the  thrush  sings  a  stave. 
And  silence  again. 

The  shadows  falter,  though  the  pensive 
lunar  light  yet  lingers.  And  again  the  thrush 
—  fresh,  thrilling,  a  quiver  of  ecstasies,  a 
soaring  wing,  though  it  catches  the  yellow 
moonbeams.  The  sky  reddens.  Alas,  for 
the  waning  moon !  Oh,  sorry  ghost ;  how 
pale  !  how  pale  ! 

For  the  prosaic  day  is  in  the  awakening 
woods.  The  mountains  rise  above  their  en 
compassing  mists  and  shadows.  Beneath 
them,  brown  and  gray,  with  closed  batten 
shutters,  Ike  sees,  slowly  revealed,  his  father's 
house,  the  sheep  lying  huddled  at  one  side, 
barely  astir  —  a  head  lifted  now,  and  then 
dropped  —  the  cow  drowsing  in  a  fence  cor 
ner  ;  the  chickens  beginning  to  jump  down 
from  the  althea  bushes,  where,  despite  the 
autumnal  chill,  they  still  roost.  And,  as  the 
first  slanting  sun  ray  shoots  up  over  the  moun 
tains,  the  door  opens,  and  there  is  thrust  out 
the  pink  face  of  Rosamond,  dimpling  with 
glee  at  the  sight  of  them,  and  her  shout  of 
glad  recognition  is  loud  enough  to  waken  all 


130    THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

the  sluggards  in  the  cabin,  or  for  that  matter 
in  the  Cove. 

The  cabin,  however,  was  already  astir.  Ike 
learned,  with  emotions  not  altogether  relating 
to  the  recital,  that  his  father's  aunt  who  had 
brought  him  up  from  infancy  had  been  taken 
ill,  and  a  runner  having  been  sent  to  apprise 
him  he  had  gone  over  to  the  Carolina  side, 
and  would  not  return  until  the  old  woman 
should  be  better  or  the  worst  over. 

Ike  had  postponed  his  disclosures  too  long. 
There  was  little  good,  he  thought,  as  he 
swung  his  axe  at  the  wood-pile  —  as  wide 
awake  as  though  he  had  participated  in  no 
coon-hunt  —  to  tell  his  mother ;  she  had  cares 
enough  —  and  what  could  she  do?  And  truly 
he  had  nothing  to  tell  except  to  put  into  words 
vague  suspicions  ;  nay,  his  thoughts  were  not 
so  well  defined ;  to  canvass  actions  and  ac 
cents  and  looks  that  displeased  him.  They 
all  knew  —  at  least  they  would  not  be  sur 
prised  to  learn  that  Jerry  Binwell  had  not 
outlived  the  malice  of  his  youth.  Aunt  Je 
mima  would  regard  the  slightest  word  against 
him  as  an  effort  to  bereave  her  of  this  late- 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.    131 

blooming  pleasure  and  joy  of  her  life,  the  little 
Rosamond.  Ike  hopefully  considered  for  a 
time  the  blind  man's  aversion  to  Binwell. 
Abner  would  never  hear  nor  reply  when  he 
spoke  —  and  since  the  first  night,  he  had  not 
spoken  to  Binwell,  except  indeed  one  day 
when  he  chanced  to  stumble  against  the 
sprawling  loafer  before  the  fire.  Abner  struck 
at  him  fiercely  and  called  out  imperiously  — 
"  Get  out  of  my  way  —  or  I  will  kick  you 
out ! " 

Jerry  had  moved,  but  there  was  an  odd 
glancing  expression  from  his  half-closed  lids 
that  alarmed  Ike,  so  malignant  it  seemed. 
The  little  girl  had  run  gayly  up,  caught 
Abner  by  the  hand,  and  guided  him  to  his 
place  by  the  fire.  For  she  it  was  who  had 
superseded  all  the  others,  and  had  made  the 
blind  artillery-man  her  special  charge.  All 
day  she  was  laughing  beside  him.  Any  time 
the  oddly  assorted  couple  could  be  met,  she 
leading  him  carefully,  holding  two  of  his 
bronzed  fingers,  as  they  strolled  down  the 
sunset  road,  or  they  might  be  seen  sitting 
on  the  wood-pile  while  he  told  her  stories 


132    THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

or  sang.  And  she  sang  also,  loud  and  clear 
—  gayly  too,  whatever  might  have  been  the 
humble  poet's  mood  —  in  no  wise  dismayed 
or  hindered  by  the  infantile  disability  of 
not  being  able  to  carry  a  tune.  She  had  a 
thousand  quirks  and  conceits,  incredibly  en 
tertaining  to  him  in  his  enforced  idleness. 
She  had  watched  wide  -  eyed  when  Hiram 
Guyther  read  from  an  old  and  tattered  Testa 
ment,  for  the  accomplishment  of  reading  was 
rare  in  the  region,  and  had  not  before  been 
brought  to  her  observation.  Often  thereafter 
she  equipped  herself  with  a  chip,  held  stur 
dily  before  her  dancing  eyes,  and  from  this 
unique  book  she  droned  forth,  in  imitation  of 
Hiram's  gruff  voice,  strange  stories  of  beasts 
and  birds,  and  the  human  beings  about  her, 
pausing  only  to  scream  with  laughter  at  her 
own  wit,  and  then  gruffly  droned  on  once 
more.  She  fell  ill  once  for  a  day  or  so  —  a 
red  and  a  swollen  throat,  and  a  flushing,  dull- 
eyed  fever.  Aunt  Jemima  and  Ike's  mother 
exhausted  their  skill  and  simple  remedies,  and 
went  about  haggard  and  nervous ;  and  the 
blind  man,  breaking  a  long  silence,  said  sud- 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.    133 

denly,  "Ef  ennything  war  ter  happen  ter 
that  thar  child  I  'd  'low  the  Lord  hed  f  ursook 
me." 

A  neighbor,  who  happened  to  be  at  the 
house,  eyed  him  curiously.  "  Ef  I  war  you- 
uns,  Ab,"  he  said,  "  I  'd  'low  ez  He  hed 
fursook  me  whenst  He  let  my  eyes  git  put 
out." 

The  brave  fellow  had  had  no  repinings,  not 
even  when  the  war  was  his  daily  thought. 
Now  he  seemed  to  have  forgotten  it,  so  full, 
and  varied,  and  cheerful  an  interest  had  this 
little  creature  brought  into  his  life.  Often 
aunt  Jemima  would  tell  in  gladsome  superla 
tives  what  she  looked  like,  and  when  she 
spoke  he  would  turn  an  intent  smiling  face 
toward  her  as  if  he  beheld  some  charming 
image. 

What  was  the  use  of  talking,  Ike  thought, 
remembering  all  this.  They  would  not  jeop 
ardize  the  loan  of  this  treasure  for  all  that 
Jerry  Binwell  could  do  or  say. 

He  cut  away  vehemently  at  the  wood,  mak 
ing  the  chips  fly  and  the  mountain  echoes 
ring.  He  responded  curtly,  but  without  dis- 


134     THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

courtesy,  when  Jerry  Binwell  came  out  of  the 
house,  took  a  seat  upon  the  wood-pile,  and 
began  to  talk  to  him.  Jerry  had  a  confiden 
tial  tone,  and  he  slyly  laughed  at  the  folks  in 
the  Cove,  and  he  took  on  a  comrade-like  man 
ner —  implying  a  certainty  of  appreciation 
and  sympathy  —  that  might  once  have  flat 
tered  Ike,  coming  from  one  so  much  older 
than  himself.  Now,  however,  Ike  merely 
swung  the  axe  in  silence,  casting  an  occa 
sional  distrustful  glance  at  the  thin  sharp 
face  with  its  long  grayish  goatee.  More  than 
once  he  encountered  a  keen  inquiring  look 
that  did  not  seem  to  agree  with  the  careless, 
casual  nature  of  the  talk. 

"  Old  Jake  Corbin  —  ye  know  him  ;  oh  yes, 
ye  seen  me  h'ist  him  up  on  the  beam  thar  at 
the  store  — waal,  he  be  powerful  keen  ter  get 
a  chance  ter  torment  other  folks,  but  cut  a 
joke  on  him,  an'  I  tell  ye,  old  Jake  '11  git  his 
mad  up,  sure.  I  seen  him  the  'tother  day,  an' 
he  plumb  looked  wild  -  cats  at  me  —  fairly 
glared.  Tell  ye,  Ike,  ye  an'  me  '11  git  round 
him  some  day,  an'  hev  some  fun  out'n  him  — 
git  his  dander  up  an'  see  him  hop."  He 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.    135 

winked  at  Ike  and  chewed  resolutely  on  bis 
huge  quid  of  tobacco. 

"  Naw,  I  won't,"  said  Ike  suddenly.  "  I 
hev'  been  raised  ter  respec'  my  elders.  An' 
I  'm  a-goin'  ter  do  it  now  jes'  the  same  ez 
afore  ye  kern." 

"Bless  ray  bones!"  cried  Jerry  Binwell, 
affecting  contemptuous  surprise  and  speaking 
in  a  jeering  falsetto  voice.  "  Jes'  listen  how 
leetle  Sally  do  talk  —  ye  plumb  peiiite  leetle 
gal!  "  He  leered  unpleasantly  at  the  flushing 
boy.  Then  he  suddenly  resumed  his  natural 
tone  and  his  former  manner,  as  if  he  had 
borne  no  part  in  this  interlude. 

"Ye  oughter  hear  how  he  talks  'bout  you- 
uns,  Ike  —  'lows  ye  air  plumb  lazy." 

"  That  war  a  true  word  whenst  he  said  it," 
interpolated  Ike. 

"  An'  never  done  yer  work,  an'  war  onreli- 
able,  an'  onstiddy,  an'  hed  n't  no  grit  ter  stan' 
up  ter  yer  word,  an'  thar  war  no  sech  thing 
ez  makin'  a  man  out'n  ye.  I  hearn  him  say 
that  an'  mo',  'fore  twenty  other  men." 

Ike's  axe  had  dropped  to  the  ground.  He 
listened  with  a  red  cheek  and  a  glowing  eye. 
The  other  watched  him  intently. 


136     THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

"  Waal,  that 's  pretty  tough  talk,"  said 
Ike. 

"  '  T  is  that !  "  assented  Binwell. 

"  But  I  hev  been  shirking  some  an'  no  mis 
take,  an'  I  reckon  the  old  man  'lowed  that 
war  jes'  the  kind  o'  stuff  I  be  made  out'n,  to 
tally.  Now  I  be  a-goin'  ter  show  him  't  ain't 
nuthin'  more  'n  a  streak." 

And  the  steady  strokes  of  the  axe  rang,  and 
the  chips  flew,  and  the  mountains  echoed  the 
industrial  sound. 

Jerry  Binwell  looked  unaccountably  disap 
pointed  and  disturbed.  He  changed  the  sub 
ject.  "  Why  war  ye  axin'  Ab  fur  the  loan  o' 
his  gun  this  mornin'  ?  " 

"  Kase  dad  hev  kerried  his'n  off,  an'  I  be 
a-goin'  ter  git  up  the  boys  an'  go  arter  that 
thar  painter.  It  riles  me  powerful  ter  go 
a-huntin'  a  coon  an'  git  run  by  a  painter. 
So  I  'lowed  we-uns  would  go  ter-night." 

Again  the  man  slouching  on  the  wood-pile 
seemed  unaccountably  worried  and  ill  at  ease. 
This  reminded  Ike  of  that  curious  nocturnal 
climbing  of  the  rocks,  and  when  he  went  up 
to  the  roof-room  for  some  lead  to  mould  bul- 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.    137 

lets  for  the  gun,  he  stood  looking  about  him 
and  wondering  how  Jerry  Binwell  contrived 
to  escape  from  his  hospitable  quarters  without 
rousing  the  family  who  slept  in  the  room  and 
in  the  shed-room  below.  There  was  no  win 
dow  ;  the  long  tent-like  place  was  illumined 
only  by  the  many  cracks  in  the  wall  and  roof. 
They  had  a  dazzling  silvery  glister  when  one 
looked  steadily  at  the  light  pouring  through 
them  amongst  the  brown  timbers,  and  the 
many  garments,  and  bags,  and  herbs,  and  pel 
tries,  hanging  from  the  ridge-pole.  One  of 
these  rifts  struck  him  as  wider  than  he  had 
thought  any  of  them  could  be.  He  reached 
up  and  touched  the  clapboard.  It  was  loose ; 
it  rose  with  the  pressure.  A  man  not  half  so 
active  as  Binwell  could  have  sprung  through 
and  upon  the  roof,  and  thence  swung  himself 
to  the  ground. 

The  panther  was  surprised  and  killed  that 
night.  Jerry  Binwell,  and  several  other  men 
who  heard  of  the  adventure,  joined  the  party. 
They  were  all  in  high  feather  going  home, 
and  Skimpy  sang  a  number  of  his  roun 
delays,  as  lie  had  often  done  before  without 


138     THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

exciting  any  particular  admiration.  He  sang 
from  animal  spirits,  as  the  other  boys,  less 
musically  endowed,  shouted  and  grotesquely 
yelled.  Nevertheless,  with  the  musician's 
susceptibility  to  plaudits,  his  ear  was  attuned 
to  Jerry  BinwelTs  exclamation,  addressed  to 
one  of  the  men  in  the  rear,  "  Jes'  listen  how 
that  thar  young  one  kin  sing !  'Pears  plumb 
s'prisin' !  " 

And  the  good  -  natured  mountaineer  re 
turned,  "  That 's  a  fac'.  Would  n't  be 
s'prised  none  ef  Skimp  shows  a  reg'lar  gift 
fur  quirin'. " 

"  He  sings  better  now  'n  all  the  folkses  in 
the  church-house,"  said  the  guileful  Jerry. 

The  flattered  Skimpy  ! 

He  knew  that  the  society  of  Ike  had  been 
forbidden  to  him,  lest  he  should  come  in  con 
tact  with  this  elderly  reprobate,  but  he  felt  a 
great  flutter  of  delight  when  Binwell,  coming 
up  beside  him,  as  he  trotted  along  in  the 
moonlight,  said  again  that  he  could  sing  like 
all  possessed,  and  declared  that  if  he  had  a 
fiddle  he  could  teach  Skimpy  many  new  tunes 
that  he  had  heard  when  he  lived  down  in 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.  139 

Persimmon    Cove.       "  Mighty    fiddlin'    folks 
down  thar,"  he  added,  seductively. 

Now  there  was  hanging  on  the  wall  at  the 
Sawyer  house  — and  it  is  barely  possible  that 
Jerry  Binwell  may  have  seen  it  there  —  a 
crazy  old  fiddle  and  bow.  It  was  claimed  as 
the  property  of  Obadiah,  the  eldest  of  the 
boys,  who  had  his  share  of  such  musical 
talent  as  blessed  the  Sawyer  family.  In  him 
it  expressed  itself  in  fiddling  to  the  exclu 
sion  of  his  brothers  —  for  very  intolerant 
was  he  of  anybody  who  undertook  to  "  play 
the  fool  with  this  fiddle,"  as  he  phrased  it. 
A  critical  person  might  have  said  that  he 
played  the  fool  with  it  himself,  or  perhaps 
that  it  played  the  fool  with  him.  But  such 
as  the  performance  was,  he  esteemed  the  in 
strument  as  the  apple  of  his  eye,  and  was 
very  solicitous  of  not  breaking  its  "  bredge." 
Therefore  Skimpy  was  a  very  bold  boy,  and 
preposterously  hopeful,  when  he  suggested 
to  Binwell  that  he  could  borrow  Obadiah's 
fiddle,  and  thus  the  treasures  of  sound  so 
rapturously  fiddled  forth  by  the  dwellers  in 
Persimmon  Cove  might  rejoice  the  air  in 
Tanglefoot. 


140    THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

"  Naw,  naw,  don't  'sturb  Obadiah,"  said 
the  considerate  Jerry.  "  Jes'  to-morrer  even- 
in',  two  hours  by  sun,  whenst  he  ain't  need- 
in'  it  an'  ain't  studyin'  bout'n  it,  ye  jes'  git 
it,  an'  ye  kem  an'  meet  me  by  the  sulphur 
spring,  an'  I  kin  1'arn  ye  them  new  chunes." 

Skimpy's  ridiculous  attenuated  shadow 
thumped  along  in  front  of  them  ;  Jerry's  eyes 
were  fixed  upon  it  —  he  was  too  cautious  to 
scan  the  boy  himself.  It  stumped  its  toe 
presently  on  a  stone  which  Skimpy  was  too 
much  absorbed  to  see,  and  so  it  had  to  hop 
and  limp  for  a  while.  Skimpy  said  nothing, 
for  he  was  wondering  how  it  would  be  easiest 
and  safest  to  undertake  to  play  the  fool  with 
that  fiddle  of  Obadiah's. 

They  were  a  considerable  distance  in  ad 
vance  of  the  others  and  nearing  Keedon 
Bluffs;  the  whoopings  of  their  invisible  com 
panions,  who  were  hidden  by  the  frequent 
turns  in  the  road,  came  now  and  again  upon 
the  air,  arousing  the  latent  voices  of  the 
rocks  ;  occasionally  there  was  only  the  sound 
of  loud  indistinguishable  talking,  as  if  the 
powers  of  the  earth  and  the  air  had  broken 
out  in  prosaic  communion. 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.  141 

"  Pipe  up,  sonny,"  said  the  paternal  Jerry, 
seeing  that  the  conversation  was  not  likely 
to  be  resumed.  "  Gin  us  that  one  bout'n 
'  Dig  Taters ; '  that  thar  one  air  new  ter 
me." 

To  his  surprise  Skimpy  refused.  "  I  can't 
'pear  ter  git  no  purchase  on  it  hyar.  Them 
rocks  keep  up  sech  a  hollerin'." 

They  trudged  on  in  silence  for  a  few 
minutes.  Then  said  Skimpy,  glancing  back 
over  his  shoulder,  "  I  wish  them  boys  would 
stir  thar  stumps  an'  overhaul  us.  I  hate  ter 
be  with  sech  a  few  folks  arter  night-fall  'roun 
Keedon  Bluffs,"  —  he  shrank  apprehensively 
from  the  verge. 

"  What  fur  ?"  demanded  Jerry  sharply. 

"  Kase,"  Skimpy  lowered  his  voice  and 
slipped  nearer  to  his  companion,  "  the  folkses 
'low  ez  thar  be  witches  'round  hyar  of  a 
night  arter  it  gits  cleverly  dark  an'  lays  by 
day  in  them  hollows  in  the  Bluffs,  an'  kem 
out  of  a  night  ter  strangle  folkses."  He  sud 
denly  remembered  from  whom  he  had  heard 
these  fables.  "  Ye  know  't  war  you-uns  ez 
war  a-tellin'  me  an'  Ike  'bout  them  witches 


142     THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

f  us'  evenin'  we  ever  seen  ye  —  along  this 
hyar  road  with  yer  kyart  an'  yer  leetle  gal." 

Binwell  was  silent  for  a  moment.  Then 
lie  began  to  laugh  in  a  chuckling  way,  and 
the  Bluffs  responded  in  muffled  and  sinister 
merriment.  "  'T  war  jes'  a  pack  o'  lies, 
Skimp !  "  he  said  jovially.  "  I  jes'  done  it 
ter  skeer  that  thar  boy  ez  war  along  o'  you- 
uns  —  Ike  Guyther.  He  be  powerful  easy 
skeered,  an'  I  wanted  ter  see  how  he  'd  look  ! 
I  tell  ye  of  a  night  he  jes'  gathers  his  bones 
tergether  an'  sets  close  ter  the  ha'th.  Ef 
enny  witches  take  arter  him,  they  '11  hev  ter 
kem  down  the  chimbly  afore  all  the  fambly. 
Ike,  he  puts  them  witches  on  thar  mettle  ter 
ketch  him." 

"  Waal,  sir ! "  exclaimed  the  candid  Skim 
py,  "  it  skeered  me  a  sight  wuss  'n  it  did  Ike. 
I  'lowed  I  'd  never  git  home ;  ef  I  lied  hed 
ez  many  feet  ez  a  thousand-legs  I  could  hev 
fund  a  use  fur  'em  all.  An'  them  two  I  did 
hev  mos'  weighed  a  ton.  Ike  never  'peared 
ter  me  ter  skeer  a  speck." 

There  was  no  doubt  in  his  tones.  He  was 
a  friendly  fellow  himself,  and  he  looked  only 
for  fair-dealing  in  others. 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.  143 

"  Waal,  I  never  went  ter  skeer  you-uns" 
said  Jerry  in  bis  companionable  manner.  "  I 
seen  from  the  fust  jes'  what  sort  'n  boy  you- 
uns  war  —  stiddy,  an'  reliable,  an'  the  kind  o' 
feller  ez  a  body  kin  put  dependence  in  — 
know  jes'  whar  ter  find  ye." 

Skimpy  listened  in  tingling  delight  to  this 
sketch  —  it  would  not  have  been  recognized 
at  home.  His  mother  might  have  considered 
it  ridicule. 

"  I  jes'  wanted  ter  skeer  that  thar  t'other 
boy  "  —  he  was  looking  Skimpy  over  very 
closely  as  he  spoke,  his  eyes  narrowing,  his 
lips  pursed  up  in  a  sort  of  calculation  —  he 
might  have  seemed  to  be  mentally  measuring 
Skimpy's  attenuated  frame.  "  I  jes'  wanted 
ter  skeer  that  thar  t'other  boy.  He  's  power 
ful  mean,  Ike  is.  He  air  always  a-purtendin' 
ter  like  ennybody,  an'  then  a-laffin'  at  'em 
ahint  thar  backs.  I  did  n't  know  him  then, 
but  I  knowed  his  uncle  Ab,  an'  I  seen  the 
minit  I  clapped  eyes  on  him  ez  they  war  jes' 
alike.  An'  ez  I  hed  a  reason  fur  it,  I  skeered 
him.  He  's  mighty  cantankerous  ahint  enny- 
body's  back,"  Jerry  continued  as  he  strode 


144    THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

on,  swinging  his  right  arm.  "  I  hev  hearn 
him  declar'  ez  that  thar  old  cur  o'  yourn,  Bose, 
air  the  bes'-lookin'  member  o'  the  Sawyer 
fambly."  He  glanced  sharply  at  Skimpy, 
steadily  stumping  along  the  sandy  road. 

"  Waal,  ye  know,"  said  Skimpy  in  a  high 
excited  voice,  "  Bose,  ye  know,  is  a  plumb 
special  coon-dog.  An'  he  's  sharp  ;  mighty 
few  gyard-dogs  sech  ez  Bose.  An'  he  air  a 
shepherd  too.  I  '11  be  bound  none  o'  our 
sheep  air  ever  missin'  or  kilt.  An'  Bose  sets 
ez  much  store  by  the  baby  ez  enny  o'  the 
fambly  do  ;  he  jes'  gyards  that  cradle ;  he  '11 
snap  at  me  if  I  so  much  ez  kem  nigh  it  — 
nobody  but  mam  kin  tech  that  baby  arter 
Bose  takes  his  stand.  An'  Bose,  he  kin  go 
out  an'  find  our  cow  out  'n  fifty  an'  fetch 
her  home." 

Binwell  had  long  ago  perceived  that  he 
had  touched  the  wrong  chord.  Skimpy  was 
quite  content  to  be  rated  as  secondary  in 
beauty  to  the  all-accomplished  and  beloved 
Bose. 

"  I  know  Bose,"  he  admitted.  "  Bose  is 
hard  to  beat." 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.  145 

"  Yes,  sir !  Yes,  sir  !  "  And  Skimpy  wagged 
Ms  convinced  head. 

"  But  Ike  'lows  he  be  ugly." 

"Shucks!  I  say  ugly!"  cried  Skimpy 
scornfully ;  he  was  willing  to  be  considered 
no  beauty  himself  —  but  Bose  ! 

"An'  he  'lows  he'd  jes'  ez  lief  hear  Bose 
howl  ez  you-uns  sing." 

Skimpy  paused,  turning  his  astonished  face 
up  to  Binwell,  the  moonlight  full  upon  its 
stung  and  indignant  expression.  Now  Bose 
had  never  been  considered  musical  —  not  even 
by  Skimpy.  He  drew  the  line  that  bounds 
perfection  at  Bose's  dulcet  utterances.  He 
was  almost  incredulous  at  this,  despite  his 
confiding  nature. 

"  Why,  I  hev  jes'  sot  an'  sung  fur  Ike  till 
I  mighty  nigh  los'  my  breath." 

"  Ye  oughter  hear  him  mock  ye,  arter  ye 
gits  gone.  Oh,  Mister  Coon !  Oh,  e-aw, 
Mister  Kyune  !  "  mimicked  Jerry  in  an  in 
sulting  falsetto.  "  He  'lows  it  gin  him  the 
year-ache;  ye  'members  how  bad  he  had  it." 

"  Dellaw !  "  exclaimed  the  outdone  and 
amazed  Skimpy,  stopping  in  the  road,  his 
breath  short,  his  face  scarlet. 


146    THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

"  Made  me  right  up  an'  down  mad,"  said 
Jerry.  "  Oh,  I  knovved  that  Ike,  minit  I  set 
eyes  on  him  !  I  knowed  his  deceivin'  natur'. 
I  wanted  ter  skeer  him  away  from  Keedon 
Bluffs.  I  never  minded  you-uns.  I  'd  jes'  ez 
lief  tell  you-uns  ez  not  why  I  wanted  ter 
keep  him  ofFn  'em." 

"  What  fur  ?  "  said  Skimpy,  once  more 
trudging  along. 

"  Waal,  hyar  I  be  whar  my  road  turns  off 
from  yer  road,"  said  Jerry,  pausing.  He 
stood  at  the  forks  of  the  road,  half  in  the 
light  of  the  moon,  half  in  the  shadow  of  the 
thinning  overhanging  foliage.  The  mists 
were  in  the  channel  of  the  river,  and  the 
banks  were  brimming  with  the  lustrous 
pearly  floods  ;  the  blue  sky  was  clear  save 
that  the  moon  was  beset  by  purple  broken 
clouds  —  all  veined  about  with  opalescent 
gleams.  The  shadows  were  black  in  the 
woods ;  the  long  shafts  of  light,  yellow  and 
slanting,  penetrated  far  down  the  aisles,  which 
seemed  very  lonely  and  silent ;  an  acorn 
presently  fell  from  the  chestnut  oak  above 
Bin  well's  head  into  the  white  sandy  road,  so 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.    147 

unfrequented  that  the  track  of  a  wagon  which 
had  passed  long  before  would  hardly  be  soon 
displaced  unless  by  the  wind  or  the  rain. 

"  I  tell  ye,"  said  Jerry,  looking  down  into 
the  candid  upturned  face  beneath  the  torn 
brim  of  the  old  white  wool  hat,  "  ye  fetch 
Obadiah's  fiddle  ter-morrer,  an  hour  'fore 
sundown,  ter  the  sulphur  spring,  an'  I  '11  1'arn 
ye  them  new  chimes.  An'  I  '11  tell  ye  all 
'bout  Ike,  an'  what  he  said  an'  why  I  wanter 
keep  sech  ez  him  off'n  them  Bluffs." 

"  Waal,"  assented  Skimpy,  "  I  kin  make 
out  ter  git  the  fiddle,  I  reckon." 

But  it  was  with  little  joyous  anticipation 
that  he  turned  away.  Ike's  words,  as  re 
ported  by  Bin  well,  rankled  in  his  heart ;  it 
was  hot  and  heavy  within  him.  He  even 
shed  a  forlorn  tear  or  two  —  to  thus  make 
acquaintance  with  the  specious  delusions  of 
friendship.  It  was  not  so  much  the  sting  of 
wounded  vanity,  although  he  was  sensible  too 
of  this  —  but  that  Ike  should  affect  to  es 
teem  him  so  dearly  and  ridicule  him  behind 
his  back  !  He  was  generous  enough,  how 
ever,  to  seek  to  make  excuses  to  himself  for 


148     THE   STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

his  friend.  "  I  reckon,"  he  muttered,  "  it 
mus'  hev  been  arter  dad  would  n't  lemme  go 
with  Ike  no  mo'  an'  it  riled  him,  an'  so  he 
tuk  ter  tongue-lashin'  me.  I  reckon  he  never 
thunk  ez  I  couldn't  holp  it." 

And  thus  he  disappeared  down  the  wood 
land  ways,  leaving  Jerry  Binwell  standing  in 
the  road  and  looking  meditatively  after  him. 

"  I  reckon  it 's  better  ennyhow,"  Binwell 
soliloquized.  "Ike's  a  hundred  times  smart 
er  'n  him,  but  he  air  smart  enuff.  Bes'  not  be 
too  smart.  An'  though  he  be  ez  tall  ez  Ike 
he 's  a  deal  stringier  ;  he 's  powerful  slim. 
Ike  ain't  much  less  'n  me  —  an'  I  be  a  deal 
too  bulky  —  git  stuck  certain.  Skimpy  's  the 
boy." 

He  remained  silent  for  a  time,  vacantly  gaz 
ing  down  the  woods.  Then  suddenly  he 
turned  and  betook  himself  homeward. 


IX. 

CIRCUMSTANCES  the  next  day  seemed  ad 
verse  to  Skimpy 's  scheme.  Obadiah  for  some 
time  past  had  not  been  musically  disposed,  and 
the  violin  had  hung  silent  on  the  cabin  wall 
in  company  with  strings  of  red  peppers,  and 
bags  of  herbs,  and  sundry  cooking  utensils. 
That  afternoon  the  spirit  of  melody  within 
him  was  newly  awakened. 

Skimpy,  who  had  been  lurking  about  the 
place,  watching  his  opportunity,  was  dis 
mayed  to  see  Obadiah  come  briskly  out  of 
the  cabin  door  with  the  instrument  in  his 
hand,  and  establish  himself  in  a  rickety 
chair  on  the  porch.  He  tilted  this  back  on 
its  hind-legs  until  be  could  lean  against  the 
wall,  stuck  the  violin  under  his  chin,  and 
with  his  long  lean  arm  in  a  fascinating  crook, 
he  began  to  bow  away  rapturously.  They 
were  very  merry  tunes  that  Obadiah  played 
—  at  least  the  tempo  was  lively  and  required 


150     THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

a  good  many  quick  jerks  and  nods  of  the 
head,  and  much  flirting  and  shaking  of  his 
long  red  mane  to  keep  up  with  it.  Occasion 
ally  his  bow  would  glance  off  the  strings  with 
a  very  dashing  effect,  when  he  would  hold  it 
at  arm's-length,  and  grin  with  satisfaction, 
and  wink  triumphantly  at  Skimpy,  who  had 
come  and  seated  himself  on  the  steps  of  the 
porch  hard  by.  He  looked  up  from  under 
the  wide  brim  of  his  hat  somewhat  wistfully 
at  Obadiah. 

The  violinist  was  happier  for  an  audience, 
although  he  could  have  sat  alone  till  sunset, 
with  one  leg  doubled  up  under  the  other,  which 
swayed  loosely  from  the  tilted  elevation  of 
the  chair,  and  played  for  his  own  appreciative 
ear,  and  found  art  sufficient  unto  itself.  But 
applause  is  a  pleasant  concomitant  of  profi 
ciency  and  he  loved  to  astonish  Skimpy.  His 
hat  had  fallen  on  the  floor,  and  the  kitten, 
fond  of  queer  places  to  sleep,  had  coiled  her 
self  in  the  crown,  and  now  and  then  lifted 
her  head  and  looked  out  dubiously  at  Skimpy. 
Just  above  Obadiah  was  a  shelf  on  which 
stood  a  pail  of  water  and  a  gourd.  What 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.  151 

else  there  was  up  there  an  inquisitive  young 
rooster  was  trying  to  find  out,  having  flown 
over  the  heedless  musician,  still  blithely 
sawing  away. 

"  He  onghter  hev  his  wings  cropped,  so  ez 
he  could  n't  fly  around  that  a-way,"  said 
Skimpy  suddenly.  "  Ought  n't  he,  Oby  ?  " 

Now  one  would  imagine  that  when  Obadiah 
was  harmoniously  disposed  all  the  chords  of 
his  nature  would  be  attuned  to  the  fine 
consonance  which  so  thrilled  him.  On  the 
contrary  the  vibrations  of  his  temper  were 
most  discordant  when  his  mood  was  most 
melodic.  He  had  one  curt  effective  rejoinder 
for  any  remark  that  might  seek  to  interrupt 
him. 

"  Hesh  up  !  "  he  said,  tartly. 

His  mother,  a  tall  gaunt  woman  of  an  ag 
gressively  neat  appearance,  was  hanging  out 
the  clothes  to  dry  on  the  althea  bushes  in  the 
sun.  She  was  near  enough  to  overhear  the 
conversation,  and  she  suddenly  joined  in  it. 

"  Nobody  oughter  want  ter  tie  up  other 
folkses  tongues  till  they  be  right  sure  they 
hev  got  no  call  ter  be  tongue-tied  tharself." 


152     THE  STORY   OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

To  this  reproof  Obadiah  refrained  from 
making  any  un filial  reply,  but  scraped  away 
joyously  till  Skimpy,  longing  for  silence  and 
the  fiddle,  felt  as  if  the  mountains  shimmer 
ing  through  the  haze  were  beginning  to 
clumsily  dance,  and  experienced  a  serious 
difficulty  in  keeping  his  own  feet  still,  so 
nervous  had  he  become  in  his  eagerness  to 
lay  hold  of  the  bow  himself. 

Sunset  would  be  kindling  presently  —  he 
gazed  anxiously  toward  the  western  sky  across 
the  vast  landscape,  for  the  cabin  was  perched 
well  up  on  the  mountain  slope,  and  the  priv 
ilege  of  overlooking  the  long  stretches  of 
valley  and  range  and  winding  river  was  cur 
tailed  only  by  the  limits  of  vision.  The  sun 
was  as  yet  a  glittering  focus  of  dazzling 
white  rays,  but  they  would  be  reddening 
soon,  and  doubtless  his  new  friend  was  al 
ready  waiting  for  him  at  the  sulphur  spring. 

"  I  wisht  ye  'd  lemme  hev  that  thar  fiddle 
a  leetle  while,  Oby,"  he  said  suddenly,  his 
manner  at  once  beguiling  for  the  sake  of  the 
favor  he  sought,  and  reproachful  for  the  de 
nial  he  foresaw. 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.    153 

Obadiah's  arm  seemed  electrified  —  there 
was  one  terrific  shriek  from  the  cat-gut,  and 
then  his  quivering  hand  held  the  bow  silent 
above  the  strings. 

"  Air  ye  turned  a  bodacious  idjit,  Skimp  ?  " 
he  cried,  positively  appalled  by  the  audacity 
of  the  request.  "  I  would  n't  hev  ye  a-onder- 
takiii'  ter  play  the  fool  with  this  hyar  fiddle, 
fur" — he  hesitated,  but  his  manner  swept 
away  worlds  of  entreating  bribes  —  "  fur 
nuthin\" 

The  young  rooster,  finding  that  there  was 
nothing  upon  the  shelf  except  the  water-pail 
and  gourd,  and  hardly  caring  to  appropriate 
them,  had  made  up  his  mind  to  descend. 
After  the  manner  of  his  kind,  however,  he 
teetered  about  on  the  edge  of  the  shelf  in 
some  excitement,  unable  to  determine  just  at 
what  spot  to  attempt  the  leap.  Twice  or 
thrice  he  spread  his  bronzed  red  and  yellow 
wings,  stretched  his  neck,  and  bowed  his 
body  down  —  to  rise 'up  exactly  where  he  was 
before.  At  last  the  adventurous  fowl  decided 
to  trust  himself  to  providence.  With  a  squawk 
at  his  own  temerity  he  fluttered  awkwardly 


154    THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

off  the  shelf,  and  almost  alighted  on  the  mu 
sician's  head,  giving  a  convulsive  clutch  at 
it  with  his  claws  as  he  flopped  past.  There 
was  a  distressful  whine  from  the  fiddle-strings 
in  Obadiah's  sudden  perversion  of  the  bow; 
he  had  forgotten  all  about  the  rooster  on  the 
shelf ;  he  jumped  back  with  a  galvanic  jerk, 
as  he  felt  the  fluttering  wings  about  his  head 
and  the  scrape  of  the  yellow  claws,  and 
emitted  a  sharp  cry  of  startled  dismay. 

Bose,  who  had  been  lying  close  beside  a 
clumsy  wooden  box  on  rockers,  growled  sur 
lily,  fixing  a  warning  eye  on  the  boy  ;  then  his 
voice  rose  into  a  gruff  bark.  There  was  no 
longer  use  in  his  keeping  quiet  and  guarding 
the  cradle.  Beneath  the  quilts  was  a  great 
commotion;  the  personage  enveloped  therein, 
although  sleeping  according  to  infantile  eti 
quette  with  its  head  covered,  had  no  mind  to 
be  thus  eclipsed  when  broad  awake.  There 
presently  emerged  a  pair  of  mottled  fists,  the 
red  head  of  the  Sawyer  tribe,  an  indignant, 
frowning  red  face,  and  a  howl  so  vigorous 
that  it  seemed  almost  visible.  It  had  no  ac 
companiment  of  tears,  for  the  baby  wept  for 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.  155 

rage  rather  than  grief,  and  sorrow  was  the 
share  of  those  who  heard  him. 

Mrs.  Sawyer  turned  and  looked  reproach 
fully  at  the  group  on  the  porch. 

"'T  war  n't  me,  mam,  't  war  the  rooster  ez 
woke  the  baby,"  Obadiah  exclaimed,  seeking 
to  exculpate  himself. 

Bose  was  stretching  himself  to  a  surprising 
length,  all  his  toe-nails  elongated  as  he  spread 
out  his  paws,  and  still  half-growling  and  half- 
barking  at  Obadiah,  the  utterance  compli 
cated  with  a  yawn. 

"  'T  war  the  rooster,"  reiterated  Obadiah 
—  "  the  rooster,  an'  —  an'  —  Bose." 

"  'T  war  n't  Bose  !  "  exclaimed  Skimpy, 
loyally. 

"  Hesh  up  ! "  said  the  dulcet  musician. 

"Needn't  tell  me  nuthin'  ag'in  Bose  — 
I  know  Bose ! "  said  Mrs.  Sawyer  emphat 
ically  —  thus  a  good  name  is  ever  proof 
against  detraction.  "  Hang  up  that  thai- 
fiddle,  Oby,"  she  continued.  "  I  wonder  the 
baby  ain't  been  woked  up  afore  considerin' 
the  racket  ye  kep'  up.  An'  go  down  yander 
ter  the  'tater  patch  an'  see  ef  yer  dad  don't 


156     THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

need  ye  ter  holp  dig  the  'taters.  I  don't 
need  ye  hyar  —  an'  that  fiddle  don't  need  ye 
nuther.  I  be  half  crazed  with  that  thar 
everlastin'  sawin'  an'  scrapin'  o'  yourn,  keep- 
in'  on  ez  ef  yer  muscles  war  witched,  an'  ye 
could  n't  quit." 

She  sat  down  on  a  chair  beside  the  cradle 
and  began  to  rock  it  with  her  foot,  readjust 
ing  the  while  the  quilts  over  the  head  of  the 
affronted  infant,  who  straightway  flung  them 
off  again  that  he  might  have  more  room  for 
his  vocalization. 

Obadiah  went  obediently  and  hung  up  the 
fiddle,  and  presently  looking  down  the  slope 
Skimpy  saw  him  wending  his  way  toward  the 
potato  patch. 

"  I  dunno  how  kem  Oby  'lows  that  thar  old 
fiddle  b'longs  to  him,  more  'n  it  do  ter  the 
rest  o'  we-uns,"  Skimpy  observed  discontent 
edly,  when  the  baby's  vociferations  had  sub 
sided  into  a  sort  of  soliloquy,  keeping  time 
with  the  rhythmic  motions  of  the  rockers.  It 
was  neither  mutter  nor  wail  nor  indicative  of 
unhappiness,  but  it  expressed  a  firmly  per 
verse  resolution  not  to  go  to  sleep  again  if  he 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.    157 

could  help  it,  and  rose  instantly  into  a  por 
tentous  howl  if  the  monotonous  rocking  was 
intermitted  for  a  moment. 

"  'T  war  yer  gran'dad's  fiddle,"  said  Mrs. 
Sawyer.  "  That 's  the  only  sure  enough  owner 
it  ever  hed  —  he  never  gin  it  ter  nobody  in 
partic'lar  whenst  he  died.  An'  it  jes'  hung 
thar  on  the  wall  till  Obadiah  'peared  ter  take 
a  kink  ter  play  it." 

Obadiah  doubtless  considered  himself  en 
titled  to  the  fiddle  by  the  right  of  primogeni 
ture  —  though  Obadiah  did  not  call  it  by  this 
name.  As  Skimpy  reflected  upon  the  nature 
of  his  brother's  claim  he  felt  that  there  was 
no  reason  why  he  should  not  insist  on  shar 
ing  the  ownership.  It  was  not  Obadiah's 
fiddle  —  it  belonged  to  the  family. 

The  baby's  voice  sank  gradually  to  a  jerky 
monotone,  then  to  a  murmur  and  so  to  silence. 
The  rockers  of  the  cradle  jogged  thumpingly 
up  and  down  the  floor  for  a  few  minutes 
longer.  And  then  Mrs.  Sawyer  betook  her 
self  once  more  to  her  task  of  hanging  out  the 
clothes,  while  Bose  guarded  the  cradle,  and 
Skimpy  still  sat  on  the  steps,  his  elbows  on 


158     THE   STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

his  knees,  and   his  pondering  head  held  be 
tween  his  hands. 

The  lengthening  yellow  sunbeams  poured 
through  the  cabin  door,  venturing  gradually 
up  the  walls  to  where  the  silent  instrument 
hung,  filling  it  with  a  rich  glow  and  playing 
many  a  fantasy  though  never  stirring  a 
string. 


X. 


Jerry  Bin  well  repaired  to  the  sul 
phur  spring  that  afternoon,  there  was  no  wait 
ing  figure  amongst  the  rocks  beside  it.  He 
paused  at  a  little  distance  and  glanced  about 
with  surprise.  Then  he  slouched  on  toward 
the  trysting  place.  In  all  the  long  avenues 
of  the  woods  that  seemed  illumined  by  the 
clear  amber  tint  of  the  dead  leaves  covering 
the  ground,  on  which  the  dark  boles  of  the 
trees  stood  out  with  startling  distinctness,  his 
roving  eye  encountered  no  living  creature,  ex 
cept  indeed  a  squirrel.  It  was  perched  up 
right  upon  the  flat  slab  that  almost  hid  the 
spring,  eating  a  chestnut  held  between  its 
deft  paws;  it  scudded  away,  its  curling  tail 
waving  as  it  ran  up  a  tree  hard  by,  and  Bin- 
well  heard  it  chattering  there  afterward  ; 
more  than  once  it  dropped  empty  nutshells 
upon  the  man's  hat  as  he  waited  half  -  re 
clining  among  the  rocks  beside  the  spring. 
Time  dawdled  on  ;  the  sunshine  adjusted  it- 


160      THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

self  to  a  new  slant ;  it  deepened  to  a  richer 
tint ;  the  shadows  became  pensive ;  the  squir 
rel  had  fled  long  ago.  Often  Binwell  lifted 
himself  on  his  elbow  and  glanced  about  him, 
frowning  surlily ;  but  the  vast  woods  were 
utterly  solitary  and  very  still  this  quiet  day. 
Once  a  rustling  sound  caught  his  ear,  and 
as  he  sprang  up  looking  about  hopefully  for 
the  boy,  his  motion  alarmed  some  hogs  that 
were  roaming  wild  in  the  forest  to  fatten  on 
the  mast.  They  stood  still,  and  fixed  small 
sharp  eyes  intently  upon  him,  then  with  an 
exclamatory  and  distrustful  vociferation  they 
ran  off  through  the  woods  hardly  less  fleetly 
than  deer.  Jerry  Binwell  muttered  his  dis 
content,  and  glancing  once  more  at  the  sky 
began  to  walk  slowly  about,  keeping  the 
spring  in  sight.  Still  no  Skimpy  came.  The 
man's  face  wore  an  expression  both  scornful 
and  indignant  as  he  paused  at  last. 

The  forest  was  remarkably  free  from  under 
growth  just  here  ;  the  fiery  besoms  of  the  an 
nual  conflagrations  destroyed  the  young  and 
tender  shoots,  and  left  to  the  wilderness  some 
thing  of  the  aspect  of  a  vast  park.  Only  on 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.  161 

one  side,  and  that  was  where  the  ground  sloped 
suddenly  to  the  depths  of  a  rugged  ravine,  an 
almost  impenetrable  jungle  of  laurel  reached 
from  the  earth  into  the  branches  of  the  trees. 
Its  ever-green  leaves  had  a  summer  suggestion 
as  the  sun  glanced  upon  them  ;  none  had 
changed,  none  had  fallen.  And  yet,  as  he 
looked,  he  noted  a  thinning  aspect,  a  sort  of 
gap  at  a  certain  point  in  the  massive  wall  of 
interlacing  boughs,  made,  he  fancied,  when 
some  lumbering  bear  tore  a  breach  in  search 
of  winter  quarters  in  those  bosky  securities. 
He  was  an  idle  man,  and  trifles  were  wont  to 
while  away  his  time.  His  momentary  curios 
ity  served  to  mitigate  the  tedium  of  waiting 
for  Skimpy.  He  slowly  strolled  toward  the 
gap  amidst  the  foliage,  wondering  whether  the 
animal  had  only  lately  passed,  whether  it  wras 
possible  to  come  upon  it  in  its  lair  and  sur 
prise  it.  He  was  near  enough  to  lay  his  hand 
on  the  laurel  leaves  when  he  noticed  there 
was  a  distinctly  marked  path  threading  its 
way  through  the  tangle.  He  could  not  see 
the  ground,  but  a  furrow  amongst  the  boughs 
indicated  continual  passing  and  repassing. 


162      THE   STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

For  a  few  yards  this  was  visible  as  he  stood 
looking  through  the  gap  of  bent  and  broken 
branches ;  then  the  rift  among  the  leaves 
seemed  to  curve  and  he  saw  no  further.  Still 
meditating  on  the  bear,  he  experienced  some 
surprise  when  he  observed  in  the  marshy 
earth  in  the  open  space  near  where  he  stood 
the  print  of  a  man's  boot ;  not  his  own,  as  he 
was  half-inclined  to  think  at  first.  For  as  he 
held  his  foot  above  the  track,  he  saw  that  the 
print  in  the  moist  earth  was  much  broader, 
and  that  the  man  walked  with  a  short  pace, 
far  different  from  his  own  long  stride.  The 
steps  had  not  only  gone  into  the  laurel  but 
had  come  thence ;  often,  too,  judging  from 
the  number  and  direction  of  the  footprints. 

"  I  wonder  whar  this  path  leads,"  he 
said.  "  Somebody  must  be  moonshinin'  hyar- 
abouts." 

He  stood  gazing  down  meditatively.  The 
broad  footprint  was  always  the  same,  the 
step  always  the  short  measure  indicating  a 
slow  and  heavy  man. 

This  suggested  the  idea  of  old  Corbin. 
The  retort,  in  the  nature  of  a  practical  joke, 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.  168 

played  on  the  old  codger  at  the  store,  had  not 
altogether  satisfied  Binwell's  enmity ;  this, 
in  fact,  was,  in  a  measure,  reinforced  by  the 
surly  silence  and  looks  of  aversion  which  had 
since  been  meted  out  to  him  throughout  the 
community.  It  was  more  than  curiosity  which 
he  now  felt ;  it  was  a  certain  joy  in  secretly 
spying  upon  his  enemy,  and  there  was  a 
merry  sneer  in  his  eyes  as  he  began  to  push 
his  way  through  the  laurel.  As  the  path 
curved,  he  saw  the  groove  among  the  leaves 
anew  before  him,  and  he  had  but  to  follow 
its  twists  and  turns.  A  long  way  it  led  him 
down  the  rugged  descent,  the  laurel  leaves 
almost  closing  over  his  head,  the  great  forest 
trees  rising  high  above  the  thicket,  flinging 
their  darkling  shadows  into  the  midst.  He 
was  chuckling  to  think  what  a  time  of  it  old 
Corbin  must  have  had  to  get  down.  "  An' 
how  in  Kingdom  Come  did  he  ever  git  up 
ag'in  ?  "  he  laughed. 

The  words  had  hardly  escaped  his  lips  be 
fore  he  emitted  a  husky  cry  of  surprise :  he 
had  come  suddenly  to  his  journey's  end.  In 
the  midst  of  a  clear  patch  of  rocky  ground, 


164  THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

where  even  the  sturdy  laurel  could  not  strike 
root,  were  scattered  shavings  and  bits  of 
wood,  and  stretching  into  the  dense  growth, 
so  long  they  were,  lay  two  staunch  but  slen 
der  poles  upon  the  ground.  They  were  joined 
by  rungs,  well  fitted  in  a  workman-like  man 
ner.  It  was  in  fact  a  great  ladder,  the  like 
of  which  had  never  been  seen  in  Tanglefoot 
Cove,  and,  indeed,  rarely  elsewhere.  It 
might  have  reached  from  the  river  bank  to 
the  hollows  of  Keedon  Bluffs !  As  Bin  well 
gazed  with  starting  eyes  he  noted  that  it  was 
nearly  completed —  only  a  few  rungs  re 
mained  to  be  set  in. 

A  sudden  vibrating  sound  set  all  the  still 
ness  to  jarring  ;  he  turned  abruptly,  his 
nerves  tense,  an  oath  between  his  teeth.  It 
was  too  late  for  him  to  hide,  to  flee.  He 
could  only  gaze  in  despair  at  Skimpy's  red 
head,  his  white  wool  hat  set  on  the  buck  of 
it,  bobbing  along  through  the  laurel ;  his 
freckled,  grinning  face  was  bowed  on  Oba- 
diah's  fiddle  that  wailed  and  complained  be 
neath  his  sawing  arm. 

Perhaps  it  was  the  urgency  of  the  moment 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.    165 

that  made  Binwell  bold  and  rallied  his  quick 
expedients.  He  did  not  even  wonder  how 
the  boy  had  happened  to  discover  him. 
Skimpy  had  descried  him  from  a  distance  in 
the  open  woods,  and  had  followed,  bringing 
the  fiddle  according  to  their  agreement.  Bin- 
well  looked  gravely  at  the  boy  and  motioned 
to  him  to  advance.  The  fiddle  ceased  to 
shiver  beneath  Skimpy 's  inharmonious  touch, 
and  with  his  eyes  stretched,  and  his  mouth 
too,  for  that  matter,  he  pressed  on  down  to 
the  spot.  He  could  not  restrain  a  wondering 
"  Waal,  sir  !  "  when  Binwell  pointed  to  the 
ladder. 

"Don't  say  nuthin',  Skimp,"  said  Binwell. 
"  Lay  the  fiddle  an'  bow  thar  in  the  laurel ; 
level  em'  so  ez  they  won't  fall;  thar!  Ye 
kin  find  'em  aer'in  by  that  thar  rock.  Now 

O  J 

take  a-holt  of  that  thar  ladder,  'bout  hyar; 
that 's  the  dinctum  —  an'  jes'  foller  me." 

Skimpy  recognized  this  as  an  odd  proceed 
ing,  and  yet  he  hardly  felt  warranted  in 
questioning  Jerry  Binwell.  He  could  not 
refuse  his  assistance  in  a  mere  matter  of 
"toting"  ;  he  began  to  think  that  this  ser- 


]/166     THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

vice  was  the  reason  his  friend  had  appointed 
this  place  of  meeting  on  pretext  of  playing 
the  fiddle.  He  did  not  definitely  suspect 
anything  worse  than  a  scheme  to  get  a  little 
unrequited  work  from  him.  More  especially 
were  his  doubts  annulled  by  the  quiet  glance 
with  which  Jerry  Binwell  met  his  eager  in 
quiring  look. 

"  Yes,  take  a-holt  right  thar  "  —  as  if  this 
was  an  answer  to  all  that  the  boy  was  about 
to  ask.  Binwell  himself  had  run  swiftly 
ahead  and  had  caught  up  the  other  extremity 
of  the  ladder.  He  went  straight  forward, 
breaking  a  path  throiTgh  the  jungle  by  the 
aid  of  the  ladder  that  he  allowed  to  precede 
him  by  ten  or  twelve  feet.  He  did  not  hesi 
tate,  although  there  was  no  rift  here  amongst 
the  leaves  to  guide  him.  His  manner  was  as 
assured  as  if  he  were  following  a  definite 
route  that  he  had  traveled  often.  Skimpy 
had  no  doubt  that  he  knew  whither  he  was 
going  through  that  trackless  desert.  Never 
theless  Binwell  now  and  then  looked  back 
over  his  shoulder  at  the  sun,  as  if  to  make 
sure  of  the  direction  which  he  was  taking.  He 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.    167 

did  not  care  to  notice  the  anxious  freckled 
face,  down  the  vista  of  the  leaves,  from  which 
all  jocundity  had  vanished.  For  Skimpy,  al 
though  the  best-natured  of  boys,  began  to 
rebel  inwardly.  He  had  a  troublous  con 
sciousness  that  Jerry  Binwell  would  not  be 
safe  to  trust,  and  wondered  that  he  could 
have  so  disregarded  his  father's  wish  that 
he  should  not  be  brought  into  this  asso 
ciation.  It  seemed  odd  to  Skimpy  that  the 
danger  should  have  manifested  itself  so  close 
upon  the  heels  of  the  warning.  In  common 
with  many  boys,  he  was  apt  to  regard 'the 
elders  as  too  cautious,  too  slow.  He  had  not 
learned  as  yet  that  it  is  experience  which  has 
made  them  so.  It  was  not  merely  mentally 
that  he  was  ill  at  ease.  His  bare  feet  were 
beginning  to  burn,  for  they  had  now  climbed 
long  distances  up  the  mountain  slope  amidst 
the  laurel.  The  weight  of  the  ladder  asserted 
itself  in  every  straining  muscle,  and  yet  he 
realized  that  his  callow  strength  would  hardly 
have  enabled  him  to  carry  one  end,  were  it 
not  for  the  aid  of  the  upholding  boughs  of 
the  laurel,  that  would  not  suffer  it  to  touch 


168     THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

the  ground,  even  when  his  grasp  sometimes 
relaxed  in  spite  of  himself.  He  dreaded  to 
think  how  he  would  fare  when  they  should 
emerge  into  the  open  woods.  "  I  won't  tote 
my  e-end  no  furder,"  he  said  to  himself,  still 
striving  to  look  upon  himself  as  a  free  agent. 

He  called  once  or  twice  to  Bin  well,  who 
feigned  not  to  hear.  His  deafness  suddenly 
vanished  when  Skimpy  stopped  and  the  lad 
der  lay  upon  the  interlacing  laurel-boughs. 
"  Whar  be  we-uns  a-goin'  ter  tote  this  hyar 
contrivance,  ennyways  ?  "  the  boy  demanded. 

"  Jes'  a  leetle  furder,  sonny,"  said  Jerry 
Binwell  paternally,  turning  upon  him  a  quiet 
face,  immovable  save  for  the  industriously 
ruminant  jaws,  subduing  a  great  quid  of  to 
bacco;  he  was  apparently  so  unaware  of  any 
cause  for  suspicions  that  they  were  erased 
from  Skimpy's  mind.  He  took  up  his  end  of 
the  ladder  again,  thinking  it  probably  be 
longed  to  Binwell,  and  thankful  that  he  had 
put  into  words  no  intimation  of  his  vague  but 
uneasy  doubts.  He  even  hummed  a  song  as 
he  stumped  along,  willing  enough  to  be  cheer 
ful  if  the  adventure  only  signified  a  little 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.    169 

work  for  no  pay.  "But  I  'd  hev  ruther  not 
1'arn  them  chimes  folks  fiddle  down  in  Per 
simmon  Cove  ef  I  bed  knowed  I  bed  ter  skit 
ter  up  the  mounting  this-a-way." 

For  they  were  in  trutb  near  the  summit, 
not  ascending  the  great  bald,  but  in  a  gap 
between  two  peaks.  The  laurel  had  given 
way  to  open  woods,  and  Skimpy's  end  of  the 
ladder  almost  dragged.  The  trees,  instead  of 
the  great  forest  kings  on  the  mountain  slopes 
below,  were  the  stunted  growths  peculiar  to 
the  summit.  They  heard  no  call  of  herder, 
no  tinkle  of  bell,  for  the  cattle  that  found 
summer  pasturage  here  had  been  rounded  up 
and  driven  home  to  the  farms  in  the  "  flat- 
woods."  The  silence  was  intense ;  they  saw 
no  living  creature  save  a  buzzard  circling  high 
in  the  red  skies  of  the  sunset.  Skimpy 
thought  for  a  moment  they  were  going  down 
on  the  North  Carolina  side  ;  he  was  about  to 
protest ;  the  way  was  indescribably  rocky 
and  tortuous  ;  the  night  was  coming  on.  Sud 
denly  Binwell  paused. 

"  Kem  along,  sonny ;  take  the  ladder  in  the 
middle  an'  feed  it  out  ter  me." 


170     THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

Skimpy,  wondering,  took  the  ladder  in  the 
middle,  giving  it  a  series  of  shoves  toward 
Binwell,  who  suddenly  lifted  the  end,  and 
with  one  effort  flung  it  from  him  —  and  out 
of  the  world,  as  it  seemed  to  Skimpy. 

He  listened  for  a  moment,  hearing  it  crash 
among  the  tree-tops  as  it  went  falling  down 
the  precipice  whence  Binwell  had  thrown  it. 
A  moment  after  there  was  silence  as  intense 
as  before.  Then  Binwell  knelt  on  the  verge 

O 

and  looked  down  the  abyss.  He  raised  a 
triumphant  grinning  face,  and  silently  beck 
oned  to  Skimpy.  The  boy  went  forward  and 
knelt  too,  to  look  over.  At  first  he  could  see 
nothing  but  the  shelving  side  of  the  moun 
tain  ;  the  deep  abyss  gloomed  with  shadows, 
the  richness  of  the  autumnal  colors  sombre 
and  tempered  beneath  the  purple  dusk.  And 
then  he  discovered  one  end  of  the  ladder, 
barely  perceptible  in  the  top  of  a  pine-tree. 

"  It  lodged  'mongst  them  pines,"  said  the 
jubilant  Binwell.  "It's  safe,  summer  or 
winter;  nobody '11  find  it  but  the  birds  or  the 
squir'ls." 

Skimpy  could  no   longer  resist.     "  Air  — 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.    171 

air  —  it  yourn  ?  "  he  faltered,  struggling  with 
his  instinct  of  politeness. 

Binwell  had  risen  to  his  feet ;  he  was  rub 
bing  the  earth  off  his  hands  —  recklessly  be 
daubed  when  he  had  knelt  down  —  and  also 
from  his  trousers,  nimbly  raising  first  one 
knee,  then  the  other,  for  the  purpose.  He 
was  chuckling  unpleasantly  as  he  looked  at 
the  boy. 

"  Ever  see  folks  fling  thar  own  ladders  off'n 
the  bluffs,  an'  land  'em  'mongst  the  tree-tops 
fur  the  birds  ter  roost  in  ?  " 

Skimpy  stared,  and  ruefully  shook  his  head. 

"Waal  then!  what  ye  talkin'  'bout?" 
Binwell's  tone  was  cheerful,  triumphant;  a 
sinister  triumph. 

The  dumfounded  Skimpy  faltered,  — 

"  AY  hose  war  it,  then  ?  " 

"  Dunno  edzac'ly,"  cried  the  blithe  Bin- 
well. 

"  Waal,  now,  that  ain't  fair !  "  protested 
Skimpy,  indignantly.  "  I  'm  goin'  right 
down  ter  the  Cove,  and  tell." 

"  Naw,  ye  won't  !  Naw,  ye  won't  !  " 
exclaimed  the  undismayed  Binwell.  "  Ef 


172     THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

ye  do,  ye  '11  git  jailed  quick  'n  never  war 
seen." 

"  I  ain't  done  nothin',"  cried  Skimpy,  re 
coiling. 

"  Ain't  ye  !  Tote  a  man's  ladder  up  the 
mounting,  over  ter  the  Carliny  side,  an'  tum 
ble  it  down  'mongst  the  pine  tops,  whar  he  'd 
hev  ter  make  another  ter  reach  it.  Mebbe 
the  constable  an'  old  Greeps,  ez  be  jestice  o' 
the  peace,  don't  'low  ez  that 's  suthin',  but 
I  reckon  they  will !  " 

Skimpy  was  silent  in  acute  dismay.  Into 
what  danger,  what  wrong-doing,  had  he  not 
thrust  himself  by  his  disobedience !  He 
looked  at  the  grinning  face,  flushed  by  the 
fading  remnant  of  the  roseate  sunset,  feeling 
that  he  was  in  Binwell's  power,  wondering 
what  he  should  do,  how  he  should  be  liber 
ated  from  the  toils  spread  for  him. 

"  See  now,  Skimp,"  said  Binwell  beguil- 
ingly,  and  the  poor  boy's  heart  leaped  up  at 
the  kindly  tone,  for  he  sought  to  put  the  best 
construction  on  Jerry  Binwell's  intentions,  if 
only  to  calm  his  own  despair  and  distress. 
"I  could  jes'  take  ye  under  my  arm  —  so," 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS,    173 

he  tucked  Skimpy's  head  under  his  arm  and 
lightly  lifted  him  high  off  his  feet — "an' 
strong  ez  I  be  I  could  fling  ye  off'n  that  bluff 
half  down  that  thar  gorge  ;  thar  would  n't  be 
enough  o'  ye  lef  ter  pick  up  on  a  shovel; 
an'  that  would  keep  ye  from  tellin'  tales  on 
me,  I  reckon."  He  swung  the  boy  perilously 
close  to  the  edge  of  the  precipice,  then  set 
him  gently  on  his  feet.  "  But  I  don't  want 
ter  hurt  ye,  an'  I  ain't  goin'  ter  do  it.  I 
know  ye  air  a  plumb  honer'ble,  good  sorter 
boy,  an'  ain't  goin'  ter  make  a  tale-tell  o' 
yerse'f,  even  if  ye  would  n't  git  jailed.  I 
would  n't  trest  no  boy  I  ever  see  but  you-uns. 
I  would  n't  trest  Ike  Guyther  fur  nuthin'.  I 
war  goin'  ter  tell  you-uns  all  'bout'n  it  enny- 
ways,  even  'fore  I  fund  that  thar  ladder. 
An'  then  ye  kin  jedge  whether  I  be  right  or 
wrong." 

Skimpy,  eager  to  be  reassured,  felt  his 
heart  lighten  with  the  words.  He  strained 
his  credulity  to  believe  in  Jerry  Binwell. 
Surely  he  had  not  done  so  very  wrong ;  there 
might  be  no  harm  in  the  man,  after  all.  He 
drew  a  deep  breath  of  relief,  and  then  picked 


174     THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

up  his  hat  which  had  fallen  from  his  head 
when  Jerry  Biriwell  was  illustrating  the  ter 
rible  fate  he  might  decree  for  the  lad  if  he 
chose.  The  man  was  closely  studying  his 
face  when  their  eyes  met  once  more,  but  Bin- 
well  said  simply  that  they  had  better  go  after 
Obadiah's  fiddle  or  night  would  overtake 
them  before  they  found  it. 

He  talked  as  they  went. 

"  Ye  see,  Skimpy,"  he  said,  "  my  tongue 
don't  lay  holt  nat'rally  ter  the  words,  kase  I 
hev  got  some  things  ter  tell  ez  I  ain't  right 
proud  on." 

He  glanced  down  at  the  wondering,  up 
turned  face,  with  its  eyes  wide  with  anticipa 
tion,  and  its  mouth  opening  as  if  to  swallow, 
without  the  customary  grain  of  salt,  any  big 
tale  which  might  be  told. 

"  Ye  hearn  old  Corbin  say,  yander  at  the 
store  that  day,  ez  I  run  durin'  the  War.  An' 
I  'histed  him  up  on  the  beam  fur  shamin'  me 
'fore  all  them  folks.  Waal,  I  ought  n't  ter 
done  it,  kase  't  war  true  — jes1  one  time  !  I 
felt  powerful  'shamed  ter  hear  'bout  it  ag'in 
-  plumb  bowed  down." 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.    175 

The  crafty  eyes  scanning  Skimpy 's  ingenu 
ous  face  saw  that  he  was  sympathetic. 

"War  ain't  a  healthy  bizness,  nohow," 
continued  Jerry.  "  But  thar  air  lots  o'  men, 
ez  run  heap  more  'n  me,  ez  don't  hev  it 
fetched  up  ag'in  'em  every  day.  Lots  o' 
runnin'  war  done  in  the  War  —  but  folks 
nowadays  ginerally  talks  'bout  thar  fightin'. 
Some  nimble  fellers  showed  their  heels  in 
them  times  —  folks  ez  live  right  hyar  in  the 
Cove.  But  I  be  the  only  one  ez  hev  got  ter 
hear  'bout  it  in  these  days.  It 's  kase  I  'm 
pore,  Skimp.  Ef  I  hed  a  good  cabin  an' 
right  smart  cornfield,  an'  consider'ble  head  o' 
stock,  ye  would  n't  hear  'bout  my  runnin'  that 
time." 

Cynicism  is  eminently  infectious.  Skimpy 
wagged  his  head  significantly.  "  You  would 
n't  indeed  !  "  the  gesture  seemed  to  say. 

"  They  don't  like  me  jes'  kase  I  'm  pore. 
An'  kase  I  'm  pore  they  call  me  shif'less.  I 
hev  hed  a  heap  o'  trouble;  sech  truck  ez  I 
hed  I  war  obleeged  ter  spen'  fur  doctors' 
'tendance  on  my  wife,  ez  war  ailin'  al 
ways,  an'  arter  all  she  died  at  last." 


176     THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

The  unromantic  Skimpy,  meditating  on  the 
case,  felt  that  at  least  the  doctors'  bills  were 
at  an  end. 

"  An'  now  I  be  homeless,  an'  a  wanderer, 
an'  hev  my  leetle  gal  ter  feed.  Folks  actially 
want  ter  take  her  away  from  me.  Ef 
't  war  n't  fur  her,  them  Guythers  wouldn't 
let  me  stay  thar  a  day. " 

Skimpy  knew  that  this  was  true.  Ike  had 
confided  so  much  to  him  of  the  family  feeling 
on  the  matter. 

"An'  now  folks  in  the  Cove  air  a-fixin'  ter 
drive  me  out'n  it  —  me  an'  little  Rosamondy. 
They  can't  set  the  law  onto  me,  fur  I  never 
done  nothin'  ag'in  it  —  so  they  be  a-goin'  ter 
laff  me  out'n  it.  Ye  wanter  know  whose 
ladder  that  is  ?  "  he  broke  off  with  apparent 
irrelevance. 

Skimpy  nodded  an  eager  assent. 

"  It 's  old  Corbin's,  I  '11  be  bound,  an'  I  '11 
tell  ye  why  I  'low  sech ;  no  man  but  him  kin 
do  sech  a  job.  Waal,  ye  know  what  he  wants 
it  fur  ?  He  wants  somebody  ez  be  light  an' 
handy  ter  climb  up  Keedon  Bluffs  by  it  ter 
them  hollows.  An'  ye  wanter  know  what 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.  177 

fur  ?  Ter  git  sutliin'  ez  air  hid  in  one  o'  'em. 
An'  ye  wanter  know  what  that  be  ?  " 

Skimpy's  face  in  the  closing  dusk  might 
have  been  cut  out  of  stone,  so  white  and  set 
it  was  —  such  a  petrified  expectancy  upon  it. 
The  man's  eyes  glittered  as  he  held  his  own 
face  nearer  and  spoke  in  a  hissing  whisper, 
albeit  in  the  lonely  wilderness  none  could 
hear  his  words. 

"  Some  war  maps,  an'  orders  in  a  box  what 
a  courier  —  thinkin'  he  war  a-goin'  ter  be  cap 
tured  —  hid  thar ;  an'  he  war  killed  afore 
ever  he  got  'em  ag'in.  An'  long  o'  'em  air 
a  letter  a-tellin'  'bout  me  a-runnin'  an' 
a-orderin'  me  ter  be  shot  fur  a  deserter.  An' 
old  Corbin,  bearin'  a  gredge  ag'in  me,  air 
a-goin'  ter  perduce  'em  an'  fairly  laff  me  out'n 
the  Cove.  An'  I  ain't  got  nowhar  ter  go." 

"  He  's  mighty  mean  !  "  cried  Skimpy,  his 
heart  swelling  with  indignation. 

"  Waal,  I  wanter  scotch  his  wheel ! "  ex 
claimed  Binwell.  "  I  don't  want  him  ter 
do  it." 

"How  kin  ye  purvent  it?"  said  Skimpy, 
briskly.  Surely  there  was  no  malice,  no  mis- 


178    THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

chief  on  Bin  well's  part  in  this.  His  spirits 
had  risen  to  their  normal  high  pitch. 

"Waal,  Skimp,  I  hev  been  a -study  in' 
bout'n  it.  But  till  I  fund  .that  ladder  —  it 
air  too  long  fur  enny  mortal  place  but  Kee- 
don  Bluffs  —  an'  made  sure  o'  what  he  war 
a-doin'  of,  I  war  n't  sati'fied  in  my  mind.  Ef 
ye  '11  holp  me  —  kase  I  be  too  bulky  nowa 
days  ter  creep  in  one  o'  them  hollows  —  ef 
I  '11  kerry  ye  down  thar  will  ye  snake  in  an' 
git  the  box?  Ye 'feared  ?" 

For  Skimpy  had  drawn  back  at  this  propo 
sition.  "Naw,"  he  faltered,  but  with  an  af 
firmative  tendency.  He  saw  Binwell's  teeth 
and  eyes  gleam  through  the  dusk.  This  man 
who  ran  was  laughing  at  him  for  being  afraid 
of  the  great  heights  of  Keedon  Bluffs,  of  the 
black  abysses  below ! 

"  We  hed  better  hev  tuk  the  ladder  ter 
climb  by,"  suggested  Skimpy. 

"  An'  hev  old  Corbin  come  along  the  river 
bank  an'  take  it  down  whilst  we  war  on  it  ? 
I  'm  better'n  enny  ladder  ye  ever  see,  bein' 
so  strong.  Feel  my  arm,"  he  held  it  out. 
"  Shucks,  boy  !  Fust  time  I  ever  see  ye,  ye 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.    179 

war  talkin'  ter  Ike  'bout  climbin'  down  thar 
'thout  emiy  holp.  But  mebbe  ef  ye  don't 
want  ter  go,  Ike  will.  I  hain't  axed  him  yit. 
I  'd  ruther  hev  you-uns.  But  I  reckon  he 
ain't  afeard." 

In  addition  to  Skimpy's  sympathy  for 
the  ostracized  Binwell  his  terror  of  being 
considered  a  coward  was  very  great.  "  Naw 
—  I  '11  go  —  I  ain't  'feared  ;  but  I  be  power 
ful  oneasy  an'  troubled  bout'n  that  thar  lad 
der." 

"Waal,  arter  we  git  the  box  —  the  papers 
air  in  it  —  we  '11  go  over  to  yon  side  o'  the 
mounting  with  a  axe,  an'  cut  down  the  tree  ez 
cotched  the  ladder,  an'  tote  it  back  whar  we 
fund  it." 

Skimpy's  objections  vanished  at  the  pros 
pect  of  being  able  to  undo  soon  the  harm  he 
had  done.  He  hoped  fervently  that  old  Cor- 
bin  would  not  miss  his  ladder  before  it  was 
replaced. 

"  Hyar  's  Obadiah's  fiddle !  "  exclaimed  Bin- 
well,  who  led  the  way  while  the  boy  followed 
through  the  laurel,  grown  quite  dai'k  now; 
and  when  they  emerged  into  the  open  woods 


180    THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

they  beheld  the  stars  glistening  in  the  shal 
lows  of  the  branch,  and  many  a  pensive 
glimmer  came  through  the  bare  boughs,  and 
through  the  thinning  leaves. 


XI. 

THE  ladder  was  early  missed  ;  indeed  it  was 
the  next  morning  that  old  Corbin  puffed  and 
pushed  through  the  laurel  to  the  bare  space 
where  his  handiwork  had  been  wont  to  lie  and 
to  grow  apace,  rung  by  rung.  He  did  not  at 
first  notice  its  absence.  He  put  his  box  of 
tools  on  the  ground.  Then  he  sat  down  on  a 
rock  and  mopped  his  brow  with  his  red  ban 
dana  handkerchief  and  gazed  meditatively 
down  the  vistas  of  the  woods.  The  Indian 
summer  was  abroad  in  the  land,  suffusing  it 

'  O 

with  languor  and  light  —  a  subtly  tempered 
radiance;  with  embellishments  of  color,  soft 
and  brilliant ;  with  fine  illusions  of  purpling 
haze  ;  with  a  pensive  joy  in  sheer  existence. 
How  gracious  it  was  to  breathe  such  air,  such 
aromatic  perfumes ;  to  hear  such  melodic 
sounds  faintly  piped  with  the  wind  among  the 
boughs.  Ah,  summer,  not  going,  surely!  for 
despite  the  sere  leaf  one  must  believe  it  had 
barely  come. 


182     THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

They  were  not  poetic  lungs  which  Mr.  Cor- 
bin  wore,  encased  in  much  fat,  but  they  ex 
panded  to  the  exquisite  aroma  of  the  morn 
ing  as  amply  as  if  they  differentiated  and 
definitely  appreciated  it.  He  drew  several 
long  luxurious  sighs,  and  then  it  seemed  as 
if  he  would  breathe  no  more.  He  gasped  ; 
turned  red  ;  his  eyes  started  from  his  head. 
He  had  taken  notice  at  last  that  the  ladder 
had  been  removed.  He  arose  tremulously 
and  approached  the  spot  where  it  usually  lay. 
There  was  no  trace  of  it.  He  staggered  a  few 
steps  backward  in  dismayed  recoil.  His  spec 
tacles  fell  to  the  ground,  the  lenses  shatter 
ing  on  the  stones. 

"  Witches  !  "  he  spluttered.  "  Witches  !  " 
He  cast  one  terrified  appealing  look  at  the 
solitudes  about  him,  half-fearing  to  see  the 
mystic  beings  that  his  superstition  deemed 
lurking  there  ;  then  he  began  to  waddle  —  for 
he  could  hardly  be  said  to  run  —  as  fast  as  he 
could  go  along  the  path  through  the  laurel. 

Tremulous  alike  with  his  years  and  the 
shock  of  surprise,  his  condition  was  pitiable 
by  the  time  he  reached  the  store  —  for  he  at 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.    183 

once  sought  his  friend  and  crony  the  store 
keeper.  And  some  time  elapsed  before  he 
could  be  restored  to  his  normal  calmness  and 
make  intelligible  the  detail  of  what  had  be 
fallen  him.  Peter  Sawyer  was  a  man  of  con 
siderable  acumen.  He  was  far  more  disposed 
to  believe  that  the  ladder  had  been  found  by 
some  freakish  boys  who  had  mischievously 
hidden  it  in  the  laurel  hard  by,  than  that  it 
had  been  spirited  away  by  witches.  He  con 
sidered,  however,  that  his  old  friend  had  been 
victimized  beyond  the  limits  of  fun,  and  be 
fore  setting  out  for  the  spot  he  summoned  the 
constable  of  the  district  to  their  aid,  for  he 
felt  that  arrests  for  malicious  mischief  were 
in  order.  Both  he  and  the  officer  were  pre 
pared  to  beat  the  laurel  and  patrol  the  neigh 
borhood  and  ferret  out  the  miscreants.  They 
arranged  their  plans  as  they  trudged  on  to 
gether,  now  and  then  pausing  to  wait  for  old 
Corbin  as  he  pounded  along  behind  them. 
The  storekeeper  was  detailing,  too,  to  the 
constable  the  reasons  for  the  manufacture  of 
the  long  ladder  —  for  he  was  the  confidential 
friend  of  Jake  Corbin,  and  in  fact  had  sug 
gested  the  scheme. 


184     THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

"  We  mougbt  ez  well  let  ye  inter  the  se 
cret  fus'  ez  las',  kase  this  hyar  case  air  one 
fur  the  strong  arm  o'  the  law."  He  threw 
back  his  narrow  lizard-like  head  and  laughed, 
showing  his  closely-set  tobacco-stained  teeth. 

"  Strong  ez  it  air  't  ain't  plumb  long 
enough !  "  he  added. 

The  constable,  a  thick-set,  slow  man,  cocked 
his  head  inquiringly  askew. 

"'T ain't  long  enough,"  continued  Sawyer, 
enjoying  the  involutions  of  the  method  of  dis 
closure  he  had  adopted.  "  The  arm  o'  the 
law  ain't  long  enough  ter  reach  up  ter  them 
hollows  in  Keedon  Bluffs  !  " 

"  In  Keedon  Bluffs  !  "  echoed  the  amazed 
officer. 

"  Jes'  so,"  said  Sawyer,  laughing  and  nod 
ding.  "So  we  hev  lengthened  its  reach  by 
the  loan  of  a  ladder."  He  strode  on  silently 
for  a  few  moments  beside  the  constable,  their 
two  shadows  following  them  down  the  red 
clay  road,  in  advance  of  old  Corbin,  who  was 
lumbering  on  behind  attended  by  a  portly, 
swaying,  lunging  image  of  himself,  impu 
dently  magnified  and  nearly  twice  as  big. 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.     185 

"  Ye  see,"  resumed  Sawyer,  "  Jake  Corbin 
b'lieves  ez  some  o'  old  Squair  Torbett's  money 
an'  sech,  what  he  hid  in  the  war  times,  air 
right  up  yander  in  one  o'  them  holes  —  't  war 
this  hyar  Jerry  Binwell,  ez  war  a  slim  boy 
then,  an'  Ab  Guyther  ez  helped  ter  hide  it. 
Waal,  ye  know  how  things  turned  out.  The 
Squair  died  'fore  many  months  were  over  an' 
them  boys  had  run  away  to  the  Wars.  Waal, 
ye  know  how  cur'ous  the  heirs  acted  —  looked 
sorter  sideways  when  questioned,  an'  swore 
they  never  hed  hed  no  money  out'n  Keedon 
Bluffs." 

"  I  'member,"  said  the  constable,  "  Ed  de 
clared  out  he  never  b'lieved  thar  war  no 
money  thar." 

"  Waal,  Ed 's  dead,  an'  the  tother  heir 
moved  ter  Arkansas,  an'  the  kentry-side  gin- 
erally  b'lieved  like  them  —  that  thar  war  n't 
no  money  thar  —  big  fool  tale.  Waul,  hyar 
kerns  back  Jerry  Binwell,  arter  twenty  year, 
bein'  pore  ez  Job's  tur-r-key,  an'  takes  ter 
a-loafin'  roun'  them  Bluffs  ;  I  seen  him  thar 
twict  myself.  An'  Ab  Guyther  hev  tnk  ter 
declarin'  he  wants  ter  climb  down  Keedon 


186  THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

Bluffs  an'  lay  his  hand  on  that  thar  old  can 
non-ball." 

"  Wants  ter  lay  his  hand  on  Squair's  old 
money-box,  ye  better  say,"  exclaimed  Corbin. 

"  Waal  now,  I  ain't  goin'  ter  b'lieve  nuthin' 
ag'in  Ab  !  "  exclaimed  the  constable  excitedly. 

"  Ennyhow,"  wheezed  old  man  Corbin, 
"  we-uns  'lowed  we'd  git  a  ladder  an'  summons 
a  officer  an'  take  down  that  box,  ef  we  could 
git  a  boy  ter  climb  in,  an'  turn  it  over  ter  the 
law.  Jerry  Binwell  ain't  done  nuthin'  ez  yit 
ter  warrant  arrestin'  him,  but  we  jes'  'lowed 
we-uns  war  n't  a-goin  ter  set  by  an'  let  him 
put  folks  on  beams  an'  steal  money,  an'  loaf 
around  ef  thar  war  enny  way  ter  pervent  it." 

The  constable  seemed  to  approve  of  the 
plan,  and  only  muttered  a  stipulation  that  he 
did  not  believe  Ab  had  anything  to  do  with 
any  rascality. 

Little  was  said  as  they  pushed  through  the 
tangle  of  the  laurel.  The  storekeeper  was 
ahead,  leading  the  way,  for  he  knew  it  well, 
having  often  come  to  consult  his  crony. 
"  Waal,  sir  !  "  he  exclaimed  in  indignant  rue 
fulness  when  the  bare  1'ocky  space  was  re- 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.     187 

vealed  along  which  the  great  ladder  was  wont 
to  stretch.  He  glanced  around  excitedly  at 
the  constable,  directing  his  attention  to  the 
spot,  then  called  aloud,  "Why,  Jake,"  in  a 
voice  of  exasperated  compassion. 

A  cold  chill  was  upon  old  Corbin  as  he 
waddled  through  the  last  of  the  tangled 
bushes  ;  it  required  no  slight  nerve  for  him  to 
again  approach  the  place.  He  quivered  from 
head  to  foot  and  wailed  forth  tumultuously, 
"  I  hev  been  snared  by  the  witches.  Le's  git 
out'n  these  hyar  witched  woods  !  Don't  ye 
reckon  't  war  the  witches  ?  It  mus'  hev  been 
the  witches  !  " 

A  new  idea  suddenly  struck  Peter  Sawyer. 
"  'T  war  n't  no  witches,  "  he  declared  abruptly. 
"  An'  't  war  n't  no  mischievous  boys  !  'T  war 
Jerry  Binwell  ;  that 's  who  hev  got  that  lad 
der.  Ef  we-uns  could  ketch  him  a-nigh  hyar 
I  'd  git  him  'rested  sure.  He  hev  fund  out 
what  we  air  wantin'  ter  do." 

"  Better  find  the  ladder  an'  git  the  box  fust. 
We-uns  don't  want  him  —  a  rascal  —  ez  much 
ez  the  law  wants  the  Squair's  money-box  ter 
gin  it  back  ter  the  heirs,"  said  the  cautious 


188     THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

constable.  "  Go  slow  an'  sure.  Besides  I 
don't  wanter  make  no  foolish  arrests.  The 
jestice  would  jes'  discharge  him  on  sech  evi 
dence  ag'in  him  ez  we  kin  show  —  kase  we 
can't  tell  all  we  know,  —  fur  the  word  would 
git  all  over  the  Cove,  an'  some  limber-legged 
fellow  mought  climb  up  thar,  an'  ef  he  did  n't 
break  his  neck  he  mought  git  the  box.  I  tell 
ye  —  I  'm  a-goin'  ter  set  a  watch  on  them 
Bluffs  from  day-dawn  till  it 's  cleverly  dark. 
An'  ef  that  thar  ladder  be  in  these  hyar 
woods  I  '11  find  it." 

These  wise  counsels  were  heeded.  Old  Cor- 
bin  started  back  to  the  store  with  his  friend 
after  one  more  apprehensive,  tremulous,  and 
searching  glance  for  the  witches'  lair  in  the 
laurel  which  he  dreaded  to  discover,  and  the 
constable  took  his  way  cautiously  through  the 
woods  toward  the  river. 

The  morning  wore  on  to  the  vertical  noon 
tide  when  the  breeze  died,  and  the  shadows 
collapsed,  and  the  slumberous  purple  haze 
could  neither  shift  nor  shimmer,  but  brooded 
motionless  over  the  ravines  and  along  the 
mountain  slopes;  the  midday  glowed,  and 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.    189 

burned  with  color  more  richly  still,  until  the 
vermilion  climax  of  the  sunset  made  splen 
did  the  west,  and  tinged  the  east  with  gold 
and  pink  reflections.  And  all  day  the  con 
stable  himself,  hidden  in  a  clump  of  crimson 
sour-wood,  knelt  on  the  summit  of  the  Bluffs, 
watching  the  deep  silent  gliding  of  the  river 
and  the  great  sand-stone  cliffs  —  with  here  a 
tuft  of  grass  or  a  hardy  bush  in  a  niche,  with 
sheer  reaches  and  anon  crevices,  and  on  a 
ledge  the  ball  from  the  deadly  gun,  lying  si 
lent  and  motionless  in  the  sun. 

Nothing  came  except  a  bird  that  perched 
on  the  cannon-ball ;  a  mocking-bird,  all  newly 
plumed.  He  trimmed  his  jaunty  wing,  and 
turned  his  brilliant  eye  and  his  delicately 
poised  head  upward.  Then,  with  his  white 
wing -feathers  catching  the  light,  away  he 
went  to  where  the  echoes  awaited  him.  A 
star  was  in  the  river  —  its  silver  glitter  strik 
ing  through  the  roseate  reflections  of  the 
clouds;  and  presently  the  darkness  slipped 
down. 

And  the  constable's  joints  were  very  stiff 
when  he  clambered  out  of  the  clump  of  sour- 
wood  shoots. 


XII. 

IT  was  a  very  aark  night.  The  wind  fresh 
ened  ;  leaves  were  set  adrift  in  the  black  void 
spaces ;  the  jarring  of  bare  boughs,  continu 
ally  clashing  together,  pervaded  the  gloom : 
the  water  was  ruffled,  and  the  reflection  of 
the  stars  was  distorted  or  annulled  amongst 
the  vacillating  ripples  as  the  faint  beams  fell. 
No  other  sound  near  Keedon  Bluffs,  no  other 
stir. 

By  the  fireside  of  Hiram  Guyther's  house 
one  could  hardly  be  unconscious  of  the  tumult 
of  the  mountain  forest,  or  of  the  swirl  of  the 
wind  in  the  funnel-like  depths  of  the  Cove, 
however  deep  the  reverie,  however  the  fire 
might  crackle  as  the  big  blazes  sprang  up  the 
chimney,  however  the  little  Rosamondy  might 
laugh  or  might  sing. 

"  How  the  wind  blows !  "  the  blind  man 
said  from  time  to  time,  lifting  his  gray  head 
and  his  young  face.  And  aunt  Jemima  would 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.  191 

remark  on  "  the  powerful  clatter "  of  the  or 
chard  boughs  and  the  rustling  swish  of  the 
Indian  corn  standing  dead  and  stark  in  the 
fields. 

As  the  trumpeting  blast  came  down  the 
chimney  once  more  Ab  roused  himself  anew 
and  exclaimed,  "  'Minds  me  o'  the  night  Rosa- 
mondy  kem." 

"  Did  the  wind  blow  me  hyar  ?  "  cried 
Rosamondy,  as  she  sat  in  her  little  chair. 

"  The  bes'  wind  that  ever  blew  !  "  declared 
aunt  Jemima,  her  gleaming  spectacles  inter 
cepting  her  caressing  glance. 

Jerry  Binwell  turned  a  trifle  aside  in  his 
chair  to  hide  the  scornful  curve  of  his  lips. 
There  was  no  need  to  shift  his  posture.  Aunt 
Jemima's  eyes  were  bent  once  more  upon  her 
knitting,  and  Abner  was  blind  alike  to  sneers 
and  smiles.  Rosamond's  attention  was  fixed 
upon  a  big  red  apple  roasting  and  sputtering 
between  two  stones  that  served  as  fire-dogs. 
Now  and  then,  with  the  aid  of  a  stick,  she 
turned  the  other  side  of  the  apple  to  the  heat. 
Only  the  blinking  cat  saw  the  jeer  on  his  face, 
and  this  animal  was  too  frequently  ridiculed  to 


192          THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

care  to  cultivate  any  fine  distinctions  in  the 
nature  of  laughs.  Curiously  enough,  the  cat 
wore  a  queer  gown  of  blue-checked  homespun 
and  a  ruffled  cap  that  was  often  awry,  for  she 
sometimes  put  up  a  disaffected  paw  to  scrape 
it  off,  or  it  became  disarranged  in  hasty  or  too 
energetic  washings  of  her  face.  She  had  been 
thus  accoutered  by  aunt  Jemima  to  appease 
Rosamondy's  craving  for  a  live  doll.  The  cat 
was  very  much  alive,  and  seated  before  the 
fire  she  had  an  antique  and  dame-like  look, 
which  was  highly  appreciated  by  her  owner, 
but  which  was  totally  destroyed  when  she 
walked  on  all-fours.  The  live  doll  was  emi 
nently  satisfactory  to  Rosamond,  and  except 
for  the  tyranny  of  her  garments  was  in  danger 
of  being  killed  by  kindness. 

The  laugh  on  Jerry  Binwell's  face  was  only 
a  transient  gleam.  He  relapsed  into  brood 
ing  gravity  and  meditatively  eyed  the  fire. 

"  Ab,"  he  said  suddenly,  when  aunt  Je 
mima  had  left  the  room  to  join  Mrs.  Guy- 
ther,  who  was  "  sizin'  "  yarn  in  the  shed-room, 
and  he  could  hear  their  voices  in  animated 
controversy  as  to  the  best  methods.  "  Ab, 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.     193 

I  '11  tell  ye  what  this  windy  night  in  the  fall 
of  the  year  'minds  me  of." 

His  voice  had  the  most  agreeable  inflec 
tions  of  which  it  was  capable,  but  it  elicited 
no  response,  for  Abner  had  not  relented  to 
ward  his  old  comrade,  and  seldom  would 
seem  aware  of  his  existence.  Binwell's  face 
contorted  into  a  disagreeable  grimace.  This 
secret  taunt  the  blind  man  was  spared.  Then 
Binwell's  smooth  tones  went  on  as  if  he  had 
not  expected  a  rejoinder. 

"  'Minds  me  o'  that  night  in  the  old  War 
time  whenst  me  an'  you-uns  helped  old  Squair 
Torbett  ter  hide  his  plunder  from  g'rillas  an' 
sech  —  ye  'member  how  the  wind  blowed  ?  " 

Abner's  fire-lit  face  glowed  with  more  than 
the  reflection  of  the  flames.  His  lip  curled ; 
the  reminiscence  seemed  to  afford  him  some 
occult  amusement. 

"  I  'member  !  I  'member  !  "  he  said  slowly  ; 
then  he  chuckled  softly  to  himself. 

Binwell's  eyes  were  fixed  upon  him  with 
an  antagonistic  intentness,  as  if  he  would  fain 
seize  upon  his  withheld  thought  in  some  un 
conscious  betrayal  of  face.  But  the  blind  man 


194    THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

could  only  hear  his  voice,  languid  and  rem 
iniscent,  drawling  on,  aimlessly,  it  seemed. 
"  Waal,  I  'members  it  too,  mighty  well.  How 
flustry  the  old  man  war  !  Wonder  if  we  '11  be 
that-a-way  when  we-uns  git  ez  old  ez  him? 
He  gin  us  the  box,  an'  we-uns  kerried  it  ter 
the  top  o'  the  Bluffs,  an'  ye  clomb  down 
whilst  I  watched.  An'  wunst  in  a  while  the 
old  man  would  nudge  me,"  then  with  a  quick 
change  of  voice  —  "  '  Ain't  that  a  horse  a-lop- 
in',  Jerry  ?  hear  it  ?  hear  it  ?  '  An'  I  'd  say, 
'  It 's  the  wind,  Squair  —  the  wind,  a-wallopin' 
up  the  gorge.'  An'  then  he  'd  rest  fur  a  minit 
an'  say,  'Air  sign  o'  Ab  ?  That  thar  boy  '11 
break  his  neck,  I  'm  'feared.'  An'  I  'd  say,  'I 
hear  the  clods  in  the  niches  a-fallin'  whilst  he 
climbs,  Squair ;  he 's  a-goin'  it.'  An'  then  he  'd 
clutch  me  by  the  arm,  an'  say,  whispery  an' 
husky,  '  Jerry  !  Jerry  !  what 's  that  down  the 
road  —  the  jingle  o'  spurs,  the  clank  o'  a  sa 
bre  ? '  An'  I  'd  say  — '  It 's  jes'  the  dead 
leaves,  Squair,  a-rustlin'  as  they  fly  in  the 
wind.'  An'  he  war  n't  easy  one  minit  till  ye 
clomb  up  the  Bluffs  ag'in,  empty-handed  an' 
the  box  hid." 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.    195 

As  he  talked,  Rosamond's  hands  had  fallen 
still  in  her  lap  while  she  listened  with  the 
wide-eyed  wonder  of  childhood.  Her  curling 
yellow  hair,  ruddily  gleaming  in  the  firelight, 
hung  down  over  her  shoulders,  her  cheek  was 
flushed,  her  great  gray  eyes,  full  of  starry 
lights  and  yet  pensively  shadowed  by  her 
long  black  lashes,  were  fixed  upon  his  face. 
When  the  tension  slackened  she  sighed  deep 
ly  and  stirred,  and  then  lapsed  into  intent  in 
terest  again. 

The  blind  man  had  bent  forward,  his 
elbows  on  his  knees.  "  I  'members,"  he  said 
again. 

"  I  never  did  know,  Ab,  whether  ye  fund 
them  hollows  in  the  Bluffs  a  toler'ble  tight  fit, 
nor  how  fur  back  they  run  in  them  rocks  ; 
but  ye  war  a  mighty  slim  boy  in  them  days." 

"War  n't  slim  enough  ter  git  inter  the  fust 
nor  the  second,"  spoke  up  the  blind  soldier 
briskly,  with  awakened  interest. 

"  So  ye  put  it  inter  the  thurd  ?  "  demanded 
Jerry. 

If  he  could  have  seen  himself  how  well  he 
would  have  thought  it  that  his  old  comrade 


196     THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

could  not  see  him  !  His  head  was  thrust  for 
ward  till  all  the  ligaments  in  his  long  thin 
neck  were  visible,  strained  and  stretched. 
His  eyes  were  starting.  His  breath  was 
quick,  and  his  under  jaw  had  dropped. 
Rosamond  had  a  half  affrighted  look  as  she 
sat  in  her  chair  on  the  hearth  beside  the 
sleeping  dogs  and  the  grotesquely  attired  cat 
that  was  gravely  washing  its  face. 

The  blind  man  nodded.  "  Yes,"  he  said 
simply,  "  I  put  it  in  the  thurd,  an'  pritty  far 
back,  too." 

The  chimney  was  resounding  with  the  bur 
den  of  the  blast  as  it  sang  without ;  its  tu 
multuous  staves  echoed  far  up  the  mountain 
slopes.  Abner  lifted  his  head  to  listen,  hear 
ing  perhaps  the  faint  din  of  the  winds  of 
memory  blowing  as  they  listed  about  Keedon 
Bluffs.  The  next  instant  his  attention  was 
recalled.  In  the  momentary  absorption  the 
sharpened  hearing  of  the  blind  had  failed 
him.  He  subtly  knew  that  there  was  a 
change  in  the  room,  but  what  it  was  he  could 
not  say.  He  stretched  out  his  hand  with  a 
groping  gesture.  "Jerry,"  he  called  out  in  a 
friendly  voice.  There  was  no  answer. 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.  197 

The  puzzled  expression  deepened  on  his 
face.  He  heard  the  stirring  of  the  child. 
"  Rosamondy,"  he  said,  "  who 's  hyar  ?  " 

"  Nobody,"  the  vibrant,  sweet  voice  an 
swered,  "  nobody  but  me  —  an'  Mis'  Cat." 

"  Whar  's  Jerry  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"  Gone  out,"  she  said  promptly.  "  Sech 
walkin'  on  tiptoes  I  never  see." 

There  sounded  instantly  a  queer  thump 
ing  on  the  puncheon  floor,  a  tumble,  a  great 
gush  of  treble  laughter  ;  then  the  eccentric 
thumping  was  renewed  and  Abner  knew  that 
Rosamondy  was  imitating  the  deft  celerity  of 
Binwell's  exit  on  tiptoes.  He  did  not  laugh. 
He  leaned  back  in  his  chair  with  doubt  and 
perplexity  corrugating  his  brow. 

A  step  was  upon  the  ladder,  descending 
from  the  roof-room  —  not  Ike's  usual  light 
step,  but  he  it  was,  slowly  appearing  from 
the  shadows.  Even  after  he  had  emerged 
into  the  genial  firelight  their  gloom  seemed 
still  to  rest  upon  his  face,  and  his  eyes  were 
at  once  anxious  and  mournful.  He  withstood 
as  well  as  he  could  the  shock  of  welcome  with 
which  Rosamond  rushed  upon  him,  seizing 


198    THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

him  round  the  knees  till  he  almost  toppled 
over,  and  was  constrained  to  wildly  wave  his 
arms  in  order  to  regain  his  equilibrium.  She 
fell  into  ecstasies  of  delight  because  of  the 
awkward  insecurity  he  exhibited,  and  as  with 
outstretched  arms,  and  flying  hair,  and  tan 
gled  feet,  and  rippling,  gurgling  cries,  she 
mimicked  him,  he  found  himself  at  liberty 
to  sink  into  a  chair.  And  then  while  Rosa 
mond,  always  long  in  exhausting  her  jokes, 
still  toppled  about  the  floor,  he  silently  brood 
ed  over  the  fire. 

Once  or  twice  he  raised  his  eyes  and 
looked  toward  his  uncle  who  seemed  too  lost 
in  reverie.  Sometimes  Abner  lifted  his  head 
to  listen  to  the  rioting  winds  and  again  bent 
it  to  his  dreams.  The  white  firelight  flick 
ered,  and  now  the  brown  shadow  wavered. 
He  was  presently  subtly  aware  of  a  new  pres 
ence  by  the  hearth,  unseen  by  others  as  all 
must  be  by  him. 

"  Ye  hev  got  trouble  alongside  o'  ye,  Ike," 
he  remarked.  "  Ye  're  mighty  foolish.  It 's  a 
great  thing  ter  be  young,  an'  strong,  an'  hev 
all  yer  senses.  The  beastises  hev  got  mo' 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.  199 

gumption  than  ye.  Ever  see  a  young  strong 
critter,  free  an'  fat,  that  war  mournful?  Naw ; 
an'  ye  ain't  goin'  ter.  Ye  hev  got  the  worl' 
in  a  sling.  An'  ye  set  an'  mope." 

Ike  made  an  effort  to  rouse  himself.  "  I 
know  I  oughtn't,  "  he  said  in  a  strained  voice, 
"  but  I  be  mighty  —  mighty  troubled." 

"  Jes'  so,"  said  the  blind  man. 

Ike  looked  at  the  flickering  white  flames 
for  a  moment,  at  the  pulsing  red  coals,  at  the 
vacillating  brown  shadows.  Rosamondy  had 
rushed  into  the  shed-room  to  exhibit  her  imi 
tation  of  Ike  to  his  mother  and  aunt  Jemima. 
He  listened  to  the  chorus  of  voices  for  a  mo 
ment,  then  he  said,  "  I  dunno  but  what  I  'm 
foolish,  uncle  Ab,  but  I  hearn  what  ye  tole 
Jerry  Binwell  jes'  now  'bout  whar  ye  hid 
the  Squair's  money  -  box,  an' —  an'  I  wisht 
ye  hed  n't  done  it." 

"  What  fur  ?  "  the  blind  man  lifted  his  face 
lighted  with  sudden  interest,  "  ye  be  'feared 
ez  he  mought  low  it 's  thar  yit  an'  go  arter  it 
an'  git  his  neck  bruk." 

Ike  moved  uneasily. 

"  That 's  jes'  the  reason  he  tried  to  keep  me 


200     THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

an'  Skimpy  Sawyer  from  climbin'  down  thar 
one  evenin'  —  fust  time  I  ever  seen  him  ; 
tried  ter  skeer  we-uns  with  witches  an'  sech. 
The  Squair's  money-box  air  what  he  war  ar- 
ter,  I  be  bound,  the  night  o'  the  coon  hunt 
whenst  I  cotch  him  thar.  I  'm  feared  he  '11 
git  it.  I  dunno  what  to  do !  I  s'picioned 
suthin',  but  I  never  'lowed  't  war  money. 
He  '11  git  arrested  ef  he  don't  mind." 

"  I  wisht  he  would,"  said  Abner ;  he 
chuckled  fiercely  and  fell  to  revolving  his 
old  grudges. 

"  Waal,  I  'd  hate  that  mightily,"  said  Ike 
dolorously,  "arrested  out'n  we-uns's  house. 
I  war  goin'  ter  tell  dad  nex'  day,  but  he  war 
gone  'fore  I  got  home.  I  wisht  Jerry  Bin- 
well  hed  never  kem  hyar  !  " 

"  Why,  Ike,"  Abner  retorted  cogently, 
"  then  leetle  Rosamondy  would  never  hev 
kem  ! " 

"I  seen  old  Corbin  an'  the  constable  with 
thar  heads  mighty  close  tergether  ter-day," 
Ike  went  on  drearily,  "  an'  arterward  I  passed 
down  the  river-bank  on  the  opposite  side  ter 
Keedon  Bluffs,  an'  I  see  the  constable  a-hidin' 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.  201 

hisself  in  a  clump  o'  sour-wood.  I  duimo 
what  ter  do.  I  feel  'sponsible,  somehows. 
I  don't  want  him  ter  git  the  money  —  a  thiev- 
in'  scamp  —  and  yit  I  don't  want  him  ter  git 
arrested."  He  paused  in  astonishment. 

Abner  Guyther  was  laughing  in  sardonic 
delight.  "  He  ain't  goin'  ter  git  the  money  ! " 
he  cried.  "An'  I  dunno  nobody  ez  needs  ar- 
restin'  ez  bad  ez  he  do  —  somebody  oughter 
scotch  his  wheel,  sartain  !  G'  long,  Ike ; 
g'  long  ter  bed.  An'  quit  addlin'  yer  brains 
'bout'n  yer  elders." 

Ike  was  not  reassured  by  the  reception  of 
his  disclosure.  And  he  had  not  told  the 
worst  of  his  troubles.  More  than  once  of  late 
he  had  seen  Skimpy  and  Binwell  together. 
He  had  felt  no  resentment  that  his  friend 
had  been  forbidden  association  with  him, 
to  avoid  contact  with  this  elderly  villain.  It 
seemed  wise  in  Skimpy's  father,  and  he  only 
wished  that  his  own  had  been  sufficiently  un 
influenced  and  firm  to  have  determined  upon 
a  similar  course.  Noting  the  constable  in  the 
clump  of  sour-wood,  and  with  his  own  recol 
lection  of  Binwell  climbing  down  Keedon 


202    THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

Bluffs,  he  had  been  smitten  with  terror  for 
Skirapy's  sake.  He  knew  that  'Binwell  had 
some  reason  of  his  own  for  affecting  the  lad's 
society.  In  cudgeling  his  mind  for  the  man's 
motive  he  had  brought  to  light  the  true  one 
which  might  not  have  been  so  readily  pre 
sented  were  not  Keedon  Bluffs  so  continually 
in  his  thoughts  of  late.  He  was  sure  that 
Binwell  wished  Skimpy,  being  light  and  slim, 
to  explore  the  hollows  of  the  Bluffs  —  with 
what  end  in  view  he  had  not  definitely  known 
until  to-night.  Nevertheless  the  conviction 
that  his  simple-hearted  friend  had  become 
involved  in  serious  danger  had  been  strong 
enough  that  afternoon  to  induce  him  to  go  to 
Skimpy's  home.  Old  man  Sawyer  sat  on  the 
porch  morosely  smoking  his  pipe,  and  Ike 
paused  at  the  fence  and  whistled  for  Skimpy 
—  a  shrill,  preconcerted  signal ;  it  was  in  the 
deepest  confidence  that  he  was  about  to  im 
part  his  suspicions  and  his  warnings  and  he 
did  not  feel  justified  in  including  the  elder 
Sawyer  in  the  colloquy.  It  might  be  a  slan 
der  on  Jerry  Binwell,  after  all.  "  An'  I  don't 
wanter  be  a  backbiter  like  him,"  said  Ike  to 
himself. 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.  203 

The  whistle  brought  Skimpy  promptly  out 
from  the  barn.  To  Ike's  surprise,  however, 
he  did  not  approach  the  fence,  which  was  at 
some  distance  from  the  house.  He  simply 
stood  near  the  porch  with  his  old  hat  on  the 
back  of  his  red  head,  his  long  arms  crooked, 
his  hands  thrust  into  his  pockets,  and  upon 
his  face  a  sardonic  grin  that  seemed  broader 
than  anything  in  his  whole  physical  economy. 

"  Kem  down  hyar.  I  hev  a  word  ter  say 
ter  ye,"  called  Ike. 

He  felt  as  if  he  were  dreaming  when  in 
stead  of  replying  Skimpy  swayed  himself  gro 
tesquely  and  mockingly  about,  and  began  to 
sing  with  outrageous  fluctuations  from  the  key 
"  Oh  -  aw  -  e  -  Mister  Coon  !  Oh  -  aw  -  i  -  Mis  - 
ter  Ky-une." 

It  seemed  a  frenzied  imitation  of  himself, 
and  Ike  was  about  to  speak  when  Skimpy, 
putting  his  fingers  in  his  ears  that  he  might 
not  hear  Ike,  although  to  the  casual  observer 
it  might  well  seem  that  he  had  good  reasons 
for  not  wanting  to  hear  himself,  bellowed 
and  piped  mockingly,  "  Oh  -  aw  -  i  -  Mister 
Kyune  !  That 's  the  way  he  'lows  I  sing,"  he 


204    THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

observed  in  an  aside  to  his  father,  who  might 
have  been  carved  from  a  corn-cob,  for  all 
the  animation  he  showed,  except  to  silently 
smoke  his  corn-cob  pipe. 

"  I  never  !  "  cried  Ike  indignantly ;  "  some 
body  hev  been  settin'  ye  ag'in  me — a  back- 
bitin'  scamp  !  An'  I  '11  be  bound  I  know  who 
't  war." 

But  Skimpy's  fingers  were  in  his  ears,  and 
he  was  still  swaying  back  and  forth  and  mak 
ing  the  air  shudder  with  his  mock  vocaliza 
tions.  At  last  Ike  turned  away  in  sheer  fu 
tility,  angered  and  smarting,  but  as  anxious 
and  troubled  as  before. 

Now  he  was  sorry  he  had  not  persisted  for 
he  had  not  realized  how  immediate  and  ter 
rible  was  the  danger  to  Skimpy.  He  sat  still 
for  a  moment,  afraid  to  say  aught  of  the  per 
plexities  that  racked  him,  lest  being  mistaken 
he  might  needlessly  implicate  Skimpy  in  any 
crime  that  Binwell  might  commit.  Presently 
he  rose  with  a  look  of  determination  on  his 
face.  The  sound  of  the  lifting  latch,  the 
cold  in-rushing  of  the  air,  the  light  touch  of 
the  flakes  of  ashes  set  a -flying  from  the 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.  205 

hearth,  notified  Abner  that  he  was  solitary 
by  the  fire.  He  heard  the  cat  purring,  the 
low  murmuring  of  the  flames  in  the  chimney, 
the  wind  outside,  the  voices  of  the  two  women 
busy  in  the  shed-room. 

Another  stir  of  a  latch  and  a  presence  en 
tered  bright  even  to  the  blind  man.  "  All 
alone-y  by  hisself-y  !  "  Rosamondy  cried  as 
she  pattered  across  the  floor  and  flung  herself 
into  his  arms.  He  shared  much  baby-talk 
with  Mrs.  Cat,  but  he  was  not  jealous  of 
that  esteemed  friend,  for  he  was  Rosamondy's 
preferred  crony.  Through  her,  life  had  come 
to  mean  for  him  a  present  as  well  as  a  past, 
and  to  hold  for  him  a  future  and  a  vista. 
He  planned  for  her  with  the  two  old  women. 
He  had  let  it  be  known  to  all  his  relatives 
that  all  he  had  in  the  world  —  his  horse, 
his  cows,  his  share  of  the  cabin,  his  gun, 
a  captured  sabre  —  was  to  be  hers  at  his 
death.  Always  in  his  simple  dreams  for  en 
riching  her,  and  for  her  fair  fate,  Jerry  Bin- 
well's  image  would  be  intruded  like  some 
ugly  blight  upon  it  all.  He  had  heretofore 
thrust  away  the  thought  of  him,  and  dreamed 


206     THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

on  resolutely.  Somehow  he  could  not  do  this 
to-night.  As  he  patted  her  on  the  head  and 
heard  the  silken  rustle  of  her  hair  beneath 
his  hand,  he  could  but  remember  that  it  waa 
her  father  risking  his  life  on  the  rocks,  his 
liberty,  the  lurking  officer  and  everlasting  ig 
nominy,  which  must  surely  rebound  upon  her. 

"  She  would  n't  know  nuthin'  'bout  it  now, 
ef  he  war  branded  ez  a  thief,  but  she  air  a-goin' 
ter  be  a  gal  ez  will  keer  mightily  fur  a  good 
name  an'  sech.  Jerry  Binwell  hain't  never 
bed  a  good  name  wuth  talkin'  'bout,  but  he 
ain't  never  yit  been  branded  ez  a  thief." 

Mrs.  Cat  was  brought  and  perched  upon  his 
knee,  and  he  was  required  to  shake  hands  and 
inquire  after  her  health  and  that  of  her  fam 
ily,  which  ceremony  both  he  and  the  poor 
animal  performed  lugubriously  enough,  al 
though  with  a  certain  dexterity,  having  been 
trained  to  it  by  frequent  repetitions.  Rosa- 
mondy,  however,  found  herself  a  better  im- 
provisor  than  he  of  conversation  for  Mrs.  Cat, 
and  as  she  prattled  on  his  anxious  thoughts 
reverted  to  the  subject. 

"  He  air  her  dad,  an'  he  '11  be  disgraced  fur 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.    207 

life,  an'  I  could  hev  purvented  it.  Too  late ! 
Too  late  !  "  he  groaned  aloud. 

He  felt  like  a  traitor  as  she  passed  her  soft 
little  arm  around  his  neck  and  kissed  his 
cheek —  pale  now,  although  it  had  never 
blanched  for  shot  or  shell.  He  had  both  her 
and  Mrs.  Cat  to  hold,  and  although  both  were 
of  squirming  tendencies  his  mind  could  still 
steadily  pursue  its  troublous  regrets. 

•'  But  I  ought  n't  ter  hev  done  it  jes'  fur 
Rosamondy,  nuther.  I  oughter  hev  done  it 
fur  the  sake  of  — folks  !  A  man  oughter  keep 
another  man  from  doing  wrong,  ef  he  kin, 
same  ez  ter  keep  his  own  score  clear  —  them 
ez  kin  stan'  ter  thar  guns  oughter  keer  ter 
keep  the  whole  line  from  waverin',  stiddier 
a-pridin'  tharse'fs  on  the  aim  o'  thar  one  bat 
tery.  Laws-a-massy ;  I  wish  I  hed  tole  him. 
I  wish  I  hed  gin  him  a  word.  He  mus'  be 
nigh  thar  now.  Ef  I  jes'  could  ketch  him ! 
Ef  I  jes'  could  find  my  way !  I  ain't  been 
nigh  thar  fur  twenty  year.  Fur  one  hour  o' 
sight  ter  save  a  man  from  crime!  Fur  one 
hour  o'  sight  to  hold  the  battle-line  !  Fur 
one  hour  o'  sight  to  do  the  Lord's  kind  will ! " 


208     THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

He  was  speaking  aloud.  He  hud  risen 
from  his  chair,  the  little  girl  and  her  cat  slip 
ping  softly  down  upon  the  floor.  He  took 
a  step  forward,  both  groping  hands  out 
stretched.  "  Fur  one  hour  o'  sight !" 

"  I  '11  lead  ye,  unky  Ab,"  the  child  compas 
sionately  exclaimed,  putting  up  her  soft,  warm 
hand  to  his  cold  trembling  fingers. 

"  Lead  me !  yes !  Lead  me  ter  Keedon 
Bluffs,"  he  cried  eagerly.  "She  kin  do  it! 
She  kin  save  him !  Stop,"  he  caught  him 
self.  "Look  out,  Rosamondy.  Air  the  night 
dark?" 

She  opened  the  door;  a  mild  current  of 
air  flowed  in  above  her  yellow  head,  for  the 
wind  now  was  laid.  She  saw  the  dark  woods 
gloom  around  ;  the  stars  glimmer  in  the  vast 
spaces  of  the  sky ;  but  about  the  mountain 
summit  shone  an  aureola  of  burnished  gold. 

"  The  moon  's  a-risin',"  she  said. 

He  placed  his  hand  in  hers  ;  she  stepped 
sturdily  upon  the  ground.  The  door  closed, 
and  the  hearth  was  vacant  behind  them  but 
for  the  flicker  of  the  flames,  the  drowsing 
dogs,  and  the  purring  Mrs.  Cat, 


XIII. 

THAT  night  as  Skimpy  sat  with  the  family 
group  by  the  fireside  in  his  father's  cabin,  he 
had  much  ado  to  maintain  a  fictitious  flow  of 
spirits,  for  at  heart  he  was  far  from  cheerful. 
Often  he  would  pause,  the  laugh  fading  from 
his  face,  and  he  would  lift  his  head  as  if  lis 
tening  intently.  Surely  the  wind  had  no  mes 
sage  for  him  as  it  came  blaring  down  the 
mountain  side  !  What  significance  could  he 
detect  in  the  clatter  of  the  bare  boughs  of  the 
tree  by  the  door-step  that  he  should  turn  pale 
at  their  slightest  touch  on  the  roof  ?  Then 
recognizing  the  sound  he  would  draw  a  deep 
breath  of  relief,  and  glance  covertly  about  the 
circle  to  make  sure  that  he  had  been  unob 
served.  So  expert  in  feigning  had  poor  Skim 
py  become  that  he  might  have  eluded  all  but 
the  vigilance  of  a  mother's  eye. 

"  Air  ye  ailin',  Skimpy  ? "  she  demanded 
anxiously.  "  Ye  'pear  ter  feel  the  wind.  Ye 


210     THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

shiver  every  time  it  blows  brief.     Be  thar 
enny  draught  thar  in  the  chinkin'  ?  " 

"  Naw'ra  !  "  said  Skimpy  hastily.  "  I  war 
jes'  studyin'  'bout  that  thar  song  — 

"  '  The  sperits  o'  the  woods  ride  by  on  the  blast, 
An'  a  witch  they  say  lives  up  in  the  moon. 
Heigh  !  Ho !  Jine  in  the  chune  ! 
Jine  in,  neighbor,  jine  in  the  chune  ! ' 

"It  jes'  makes  my  marrer  freeze  in  my 
bones  ter  sing  that  song,"  Skimpy  said  when 
his  round  fresh  voice  had  quavered  away  into 
silence — somehow  he  could  not  sing  to-night. 

"  Waal,  I  never  set  no  store  by  sech,"  said 
his  mother.  She  looked  reassuringly  at  him 
over  the  head  of  the  baby,  who  slept  so  much 
during  the  day  that  he  kept  late  hours,  and 
did  his  utmost  to  force  the  family  to  follow 
his  example.  He  sat  on  her  knee,  sturdily 
upright,  although  she  held  her  hand  to  his 
back  under  the  mistaken  impression  that  his 
youthful  spine  might  be  weak  ;  but  he  had 
more  backbone  —  literally  and  metaphorically 
—  than  many  much  bigger  people.  He  was 
munching  his  whole  fist,  for  his  mouth  seemed 
not  only  large  but  flexible,  and  as  he  gazed 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.    211 

into  the  fire  he  soliloquized  after  an  inarticu 
late  fashion.  His  face  was  red ;  his  head  was 
bald  except  for  a  slight  furze,  which  was  very 
red,  along  the  crown  ;  notwithstanding  his 
youth  he  looked  both  aged  and  crusty. 

Bose  was  at  his  mistress's  feet.  He  too  sat 
upright,  meditatively  watching  the  fire  with 
his  one  eye,  and  now  and  then  lifting  the  rem 
nants  of  his  slit  ears  with  redoubled  attention 
as  the  wind  took  a  fiercer  twirl  about  the 
chimney.  Occasionally  as  the  baby's  mono 
logue  grew  loud  and  vivacious,  Bose  wagged 
the  stump  of  his  tail  in  joy  and  pride,  and  it 
thwacked  up  and  down  on  the  floor. 

It  was  a  very  cheerful  hearth  —  the  grind 
ing  tidiness  of  Mrs.  Sawyer  showed  its  value 
when  one  glanced  about  the  well  -  ordered 
room  ;  at  the  clean  pots  and  pans  and  yel 
low  and  blue  ware  on  the  shelves  ;  at  the 
bright  tints  of  the  quilts  on  the  bed  and  of 
the  hanks  of  yarn  and  strings  of  peppers 
hanging  from  the  rafters  that  harbored  no 
cobwebs ;  at  the  clear  blazes  unhindered  by 
ashes. 

Obadiah  with  his  fiddle  under  his  chin  was 


212  THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

directly  in  front  of  the  fire.  He  was  tighten 
ing  and  twanging  the  strings ;  now  and  then 
cocking  the  instrument  close  to  his  ear  to  bet 
ter  distinguish  the  vibrations.  There  are  few 
musicians  who  have  a  more  capable  and  dis 
cerning  air  than  Obadiah  affected  in  those 
impressive  moments  of  preparation.  His 
three  brothers  sat  on  a  bench,  drawn  across 
the  hearth  in  the  chimney  corner,  its  equili 
brium  often  endangered,  for  the  two  at  one 
end  now  and  again  engaged  in  jocose  scuffling, 
and  Skimpy  in  the  corner  was  barely  heavy 
enough  to  keep  it  from  upsetting.  Sometimes 
their  father,  solemnly  smoking  his  corn-cob 
pipe,  would,  with  a  sober  sidelong  glance  and 
a  deep  half-articulate  voice,  admonish  them  to 
be  quiet,  and  their  efforts  in  this  direction 
would  last  for  a  few  moments  at  least.  In 
one  of  these  intervals  their  father  spoke  sud 
denly  to  Skimpy. 

"  I  war  downright  glad  ye  tuk  Ike  up  ez 
short  ez  ye  done  this  evenin',  Skimp,"  he 
said.  "  Though,"  he  added,  with  an  after 
thought,  "  I  don't  want  ye  to  gin  yerse'f  up 
ter  makin'  game  o'  folks." 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.    213 

" '  T  war  him  ez  fust  made  game  o'  me," 
said  Skimpy,  ruefully,  the  taunt  devised  by 
the  ingenious  Binwell  still  rankling  deep  in 
his  simple  heart. 

The  twanging  fiddle-strings  were  suddenly 
silent.  Obadiah  looked  up  with  a  fiery  glance. 
"  What  gin  the  critter  the  insurance  ter  make 
game  o'  you-uns,  Skimp  ?  "  he  demanded  an 
grily- 

Until  today  Skimpy  had  never  mentioned 
his  grievance,  so  deeply  cut  down  was  his  self- 
esteem,  and  so  reduced  his  pride  in  his  "  gift 
in  quirin'."  He  had  hardly  understood  it 
himself,  but  he  dreaded  to  have  the  family 
know  how  low  his  .powers  were  rated  lest 
they  too  think  poorly  of  them.  For  Skimpy 
himself  had  come  to  doubt  his  gift  —  the  in 
sidious  jeer  had  roused  the  first  self-distrust 
that  had  ever  gnawed  him.  His  voice  no 
longer  sounded  to  him  so  full,  so  sweet,  and 
loud,  and  buoyant.  He  sang  only  to  quaver 
away,  forlorn  and  incredulous  after  the  first 
few  tones.  No  more  soaring  melodies  for  him. 
He  could  only  fitfully  chirp  by  the  wayside. 

"  He   'lowed,"  said   Skimpy,   turning  red, 


214  THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

"  ez  I  could  n't  sing  —  ez  Bose,  thar,  could 
sing  better'n  me  —  hed  a  better  voice  ;  Bose, 
yander,  mind  ye." 

Bose  at  the  sound  of  his  name  looked  up 
with  a  sleepy  inquiry  in  his  single  eye. 
Skimpy  did  not  notice,  but  began  to  wheeze 
and  rasp  forth,  — 

"  'Oh-aw-ee-ye,  Mister  Kyune,  Oh,  Mister 
Kyune  ! '  That 's  the  way  he  'lowed  I  sing.  " 

"  Dell-law !  "  Obadiah's  flexible  lips  dis 
tended  in  a  wide  and  comprehensive  sneer 
that  displayed  many  large  irregular  teeth,  and 
was  in  more  ways  than  one  far  from  beau 
tiful.  But  to  Skimpy  no  expression  had  ever 
seemed  so  benignant,  indicating  as  it  did  the 
strength  of  fraternal  partisanship. 

"  He 's  jes'  gredgin'  ye,  Skimp,"  cried  Oba- 
diah.  "  Else  he  be  turned  a  bodacious  idjit  ! 
He  air  a  idjit  fur  the  lack  o'  sense  !  Shucks  !  " 

—  his  manner  was  the  triumph  of  lofty  con 
tempt  as  he  again  lifted  his  violin  to  his  ear 

—  "  don't  ye  'sturb  me  ag'in  'bout  Ike  Guy- 
ther.     Don't  ye,  now." 

The  two  boys  who  sat  at  the  end  of  the 
bench  talked  together,  so  eager  were  they  to 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.    215 

express  their  scorn.  "  The  whole  Smoky 
Mountings  knows  better'n  that !  "  cried  one 
belligerently. 

"  Nobody  kin  sing  like  Skimpy  —  sings  like 
a  plumb  red -headed  mocking-bird,  an'  Ike 
knows  that  fac'  ez  well  ez  road  ter  mill,"  said 
the  other. 

His  mother  had  almost  dropped  the  baby, 
who  made  a  great  lunge  toward  Bose. 
"  Why,"  she  cried,  "  Skimpy  gits  his  singin' 
ways  right  straight  from  his  gran-dad  Gris- 
ham  —  my  dad  —  ez  war  knowed  ter  be  the 
mos'  servigrous  singer  they  hed  ennywhar 
roun'  in  this  kentry  fifty  year  ago.  I  hev 
hearn  all  the  old  folks  tell  'bout'n  his  sing- 
in'  an'  his  fiddlin'  when  he  war  young,  an'  I 
'members  he  sung  fune'l  chunes  whenst  he 
war  a  old  man  ;  he  hed  gin  up  the  ways  o' 
the  worl'  an'  he  would  n't  sing  none  'ceptin' 
'round  the  buryin'  groun'  whenst  they  war 
c'mittin'  some  old  friend  ter  the  yearth.  An' 
his  voice  would  sound  strange  —  strange,  an' 
sweet  an'  wild,  like  the  water  on  the  rocks  in 
a  lonesome  place,  or  the  voice  of  a  sperit 
out'n  the  sky.  Oh  my  !  —  oh  my  !  "  -  she 


216     THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

was  rocking  herself  to  and  fro  with  the  baby 
in  her  arms,  her  distended  eyes  looking  far 
down  the  vistas  of  the  past.  "  How  I  'mem 
bers  it  —  how  I  'members  it !  " 

Hark  !  Skimpy  starts  with  a  sudden  shock. 
Was  that  the  beating  of  the  boughs  on  the 
roof,  drum-like,  or  a  rub-a-dub  measure  played 
with  two  pea-sticks  on  the  rail  fence  of  the 
garden  —  the  signal  by  which  Jerry  Binwell 
was  to  summon  him  should  he  conclude  to 
try  the  hazardous  enterprise  this  night  ?  The 
wind  — only  the  wind ;  wild  weather  without ! 
Thankful  he  was  to  be  left  to  this  cheerful 
fireside,  and  the  warm  partisan  hearts  so  near 
akin  to  him. 

"  I  wonder  ye  didn't  larrup  Ike,  Skimpy," 
said  Obadiah.  "  Ye  could  do  it.  He  's  heavy, 
but  mighty  clumsy.  Ye  could  run  aroun' 
him  fifty  times  whilst  he  war  a-turnin'  his  fat 
sides  roun'." 

Obadiah  knitted  his  brows  and  nodded  con 
fidently  at  Skimpy. 

"  I  never  thunk  'bout  fightin',''  responded 
Skimpy.  "  My  feelin's  war  jes'  so  scrabbled 
up  I  never  keered  fur  nuthin'  else !  Arter 
Ike  an'  me  hed  been  so  frien'ly  too  !  " 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.    217 

"  That 's  like  my  dad.  Skimpy  ?s  like  his 
gran-dad,"  said  Mrs.  Sawyer,  dreamily.  "  He 
war  tender  an'  easy  hurt  in  his  feelin's." 

Like  that  saintly  old  man  !  How  could 
she  think  it.  Skimpy  was  ready  to  burst 
into  tears.  And  yet,  he  argued,  there  was 
nothing  wicked  about  what  he  was  to  do.  He 
wished  only  to  help  Jerry  Binwell  to  secure 
the  box  of  papers  that  could  do  naught  but 
harm  now  —  to  help  a  man  who  could  have 
no  other  aid.  Why  did  the  enterprise  terrify 
him  as  a  crime  might?  he  asked  himself  in 
exasperation.  Certainly  as  far  as  he  could 
see  there  was  no  mischief  in  it.  As  far  as 
he  could  see  !  Alas,  Skimpy  !  How  short 
sighted  a  boy  is  apt  to  be !  He  began  to  say 
to  himself  that  it  was  because  everybody  was 
down  on  Binwell,  being  poor  and  therefore 
unpopular,  that  he  too  was  influenced  by  the 
prevalent  feelings,  even  when  he  sought  to  be 
friendly.  Yet  this  reasoning  was  specious.  If 
it  had  involved  no  disobedience,  his  heart 
would  have  been  light  enough.  He  could 
have  gone  along  gayly  with  his  father,  whom 
he  trusted,  and  explored  every  chasm  and  cav- 


218    THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

ity  in  Keedon  Bluffs,  or,  for  the  matter  of 
that,  in  the  Great  Smoky  Mountains.  But 
as  he  listened  for  the  summons  —  a  faint  tra 
vesty  of  a  drum-beat  on  the  rail  fence  —  he 
would  grow  rigid  and  pale,  and  when  the 
boughs  swaying  in  the  blast  touched  with 
quick,  tremulous  twigs  the  clapboards  of  the 
roof  with  a  tapping  sound,  he  shivered,  and 
started  from  his  seat,  and  fell  back  again,  hot 
and  cold  by  turns. 

"  I  be  glad  fur  ye  ter  hev  no  mo'  ter  do 
with  them  Guythers,  ennyhow,"  said  his  fa 
ther  gravely.  "  They  hev  acted  mighty 
strange  bout'n  Jerry  Bin  well — an'  ef  they 
consorts  with  sech  ez  him  me  an'  mine  can't 
keep  in  sech  comp'ny.  Folks  hev  tuk  ter  spec- 
la'tin'  powerful  bout'n  Ab  an'  him  hevin'  been 
sech  enemies  —  Ab  war  blinded  through  his 
treachery  —  an'  now  livin'  peaceable  together 
under  one  roof.  Some  folks  'low  ez  Ab  hev 
got  his  reasons  fur  it,  an'  they  ain't  honest 
ones.  I  ain't  a-goin'  ter  pernounce  on  that ;  I 
ain't  a-goin  ter  jedge,  kase  I  don't  want  ter  be 
jedged.  I  reckon  I  'd  show  up  powerful  small 
—  though  honest  —  thar  ain't  no  two  ways 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.  219 

'bout  that,  I  thank  the  mercy.  But  ye  done 
mighty  well,  Skimpy,  ter  gin  up  yer  frien' 
like  I  tole  yer  ter  do  thout  no  questions,  kase 
this  Binwell  war  thar.  Ye  '11  1'arn  one  day  ez 
I  hed  a  reason  —  a  mighty  good  one,  too." 

He  sucked  his  pipe  sibilantly.  "  Ye  done 
mighty  well,  Skimpy,"  he  repeated  with  an 
earnest  sidelong  glance  at  his  son. 

Skimpy  listened,  half  choking  with  the  con 
fession  that  crowded  to  his  lips.  And  yet 
how  could  he  divulge  that  he  had  given  up 
Ike  indeed  for  Binwell  himself ;  how  could 
he  confide  Binwell's  secret  of  the  Bluffs,  the 
story  of  the  courier  and  his  hidden  box  and 
the  order  to  be  shot  as  a  deserter  ;  and  above 
all,  how  could  he  admit  having  assisted  in 
throwing  away  old  Corbin's  ladder  —  the 
malice  and  the  mischief  of  it  frightened  him 
even  yet. 

"  I  '11  tell  ez  soon  ez  I  kin  put  it  back.  I  '11 
tell  dad  ennyhows  ;  I  hev  got  ter  holp  Jerry 
Binwell  this  time,  but  arter  that  I  '11  never  go 
along  o'  him  ag'in,"  he  thought,  as  he  stared 
pale  and  abstractedly  at  his  father,  who  was 
tilted  back  in  his  chair  contentedly  smoking 
his  pipe. 


220     THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

Obadiah  twanged  gleefully  on  his  fiddle 
while  the  firelight  and  shadows  danced  to  the 
measure  ;  the  other  two  boys  scuffled  merrily 
with  one  another,  sometimes  leaving  the 
bench  to  "  wrastle  "  about  the  floor,  falling 
heavily  from  time  to  time.  The  baby  sput 
tered  and  crowed  and  grabbed  Bose's  ear  in 
a  strong  mottled  fist  until  that  amiable  ani 
mal  showed  the  white  of  his  eye  in  gazing 
pleadingly  upward  at  the  infantile  tyrant. 
The  wind  whirled  about  the  house,  the  door 
shook,  and  the  branches  of  the  tree  close  by 
thrashed  the  roof. 

"  Why,  Skimpy,  how  mournful  ye  look!'* 
exclaimed  Mrs.  Sawyer. 

"  Shucks  !  "  said  Obadiah  fraternally,  "  ye 
need  n't  be  mournin'  over  Ike  an'  his  comp'ny. 
I  would  n't  gin  a  pig-tail,  nor  a  twist  of  one, 
fur  Ike  !  " 

"  Ye  hev  got  comp'ny  a  plenty  at  home," 
exclaimed  Mrs.  Sawyer,  "  with  yer  three  big 
brothers  "  — 

"  An'  the  baby,"  cried  one  of  the  wrestlers 
pausing  for  breath. 

"  An'  Bose,"  added  the  other,  red-faced  and 
panting. 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.    221 

"  Laws-a-massy,  Skimp,"  exclaimed  Oba- 
diah,  rising  to  the  heights  of  heroism,  "  I  '11 
gin  ye  the  loan  o'  my  fiddle.  Thar  !  " 

He  placed  the  instrument  in  Skimpy's 
trembling  hand,  and  laid  the  bow  across  his 
knee.  And  this  from  Obadiab,  who  had  al 
ways  seemed  without  feeling  except  for  his 
own  music ! 

Their  kindness  melted  Skimpy,  who  held 
the  instrument  up  to  his  agitated  face  as  if 
to  shield  it  from  observation,  and  burst  into 
tears. 

"  Waal,  sir  !  "  exclaimed  the  wrestlers  in 
chorus. 

"Tut  — tut  — Skimpy  boy!"  said  his  fa 
ther  in  remonstrance. 

Obadiah's  face  was  anxious.  "  Jes'  lean  a 
leetle  furder  ter  the  right,  Skimp,"  he  said, 
"  don't  drap  no  tears  inter  the  insides  o'  that 
thar  fiddle  —  might  sp'ile  it  tee-totally." 

Skimpy  held  the  violin  well  to  one  side, 
and  wept  as  harmlessly  as  he  might.  He 
found  a  great  relief  in  his  sobs,  a  relaxation 
of  the  nervous  tension  —  he  might  have  told 
them  all  then  had  it  not  been  for  the  inop 
portune  solicitude  of  his  mother. 


222    THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

"  Ye  bed  better  go  ter  bed,  sonny.  I  know 
it  's  early  yit,  but  ye  look  sorter  raveled 
out.  Ye  better  go  ter  bed  an'  git  a  good 
sleep,  an'  ye  won't  keer  nuthin'  'bout  Ike  an' 
his  aggervations  in  the  mornin'." 

Skimpy,  stifl  carefully  holding  the  precious 
violin,  sat  on  the  bench  for  a  moment  longer, 
struggling  with  that  extreme  reluctance  to 
retire  which  is  characteristic  of  callow  hu 
manity.  But  he  felt  that  it  would  be  better 
to  be  out  of  the  sight  of  them  all ;  he  might 
be  tempted  to  say  or  do  something  that  he 
would  regret  afterward ;  he  rose  slowly,  and 
with  an  averted  face,  held  the  fiddle  and  bow 
out  toward  Obadiah  who  grasped  them  with 
alacrity,  glad  enough  that  his  generosity  had 
not  resulted  in  the  total  destruction  of  the 
instrument  in  which  his  heart  was  bound  up. 
Skimpy  with  slow  tread  and  a  downcast  look 
which  greatly  impressed  the  two  sympathetic 
wrestlers,  who  were  standing  still  now  and 
gravely  gazing  after  him,  took  his  way  up  the 
ladder  in  the  corner  which  ascended  into  the 
roof-room  of  the  cabin.  He  paused  when 
he  had  almost  reached  the  top,  turned  and 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.  223 

glanced  down  doubtfully  at  the  group  be 
low. 

The  flames,  yellow  and  red,  filled  all  the 
chimney,  and  the  little  room  was  brave  in  the 
golden  glow.  Already  the  two  wrestlers  were 
again  matching  strength  in  friendly  rivalry, 
seizing  each  other  by  the  waist,  and  swaying 
hither  and  thither  with  sudden  jerks  to  com 
pass  a  downfall  —  their  combined  shadow  on 
the  wall  reeling  after  them  seemed  some 
big,  frightful  two-headed  monster.  Obadiah's 
cheek  was  tenderly  bent  upon  the  violin ;  a 
broad  smile  was  on  his  face  as  the  whisking 
bow  in  his  deft  handling  drew  out  the  tones. 
The  baby's  stalwart  grip  on  Bose's  ear  had 
begun  to  elicit  a  long,  lingering,  wheezing 
whine  for  mercy,  not  unlike  the  violin's  utter 
ance  ;  it  ended  in  a  squeak  before  Mrs.  Saw 
yer  noticed  how  the  youngster  was  enjoying 
himself. 

"  Pore  Bose ! "  she  cried  as  she  unloosed 
the  mottled  pink  and  purple  fist,  and  then 
with  a  twirl  she  whisked  the  baby  around  on 
her  lap  with  his  back  to  his  victim.  A  for 
giving  creature  was  Bose,  for  as  the  baby's 


224  THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

bald  head  turned  slowly  on  its  neck  and  the 
staring  round  eyes  looked  after  the  dog, 
Skimpy  could  hear  his  stump  of  a  tail  wag 
ging  in  cheerful  fealty  to  the  infant,  and 
thwacking  the  floor  —  although  the  wrestlers 
were  unusually  noisy,  although  the  violin 
droned  and  droned,  and  although  the  winds 
sang  wildly  without  and  the  sibilant  leaves 
whirled. 

Skimpy  hesitated  even  then  for  a  moment 
as  he  stood  on  the  ladder ;  finally  he  mounted 
the  remaining  rungs,  his  story  untold. 

It  was  not  very  dark  in  the  roof-room ; 
through  the  aperture  in  the  floor,  where  the 
ladder  came  up,  rose  the  light  from  the  fire 
below,  and  there  were  many  cracks  which 
served  the  same  purpose  of  illumination. 
Skimpy  could  see  well  enough  the  two  beds 
where  he  and  his  brothers  were  wont  to 
sleep.  Garments  hung  from  the  rafters, 
familiar  some  of  them  and  often  worn,  and 
others  were  antique  and  belonged  to  elders 
in  the  family  long  ago  dead ;  these  had  never 
been  taken  down  since  placed  there  by  their 
owners ;  several  were  falling  to  pieces,  shred 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.  225 

by  shred,  others  were  still  fresh  and  filled 
out,  and  bore  a  familiar  air  of  humanity. 

Skimpy  did  not  approach  the  beds,  he 
quietly  crossed  the  room  to  the  gable  end, 
paused  to  listen,  then  opened  the  batten  shut 
ter  of  a  little  glassless  window  beside  the 
chimney.  Dark  —  how  dark  it  was  as  he 
thrust  out  his  head ;  he  started  to  hear  a  dull 
swaying  of  the  garments,  among  the  rafters, 
as  if  they  clothed  again  life  and  motion. 
Only  the  illusion  of  the  wind,  he  remem 
bered,  as  he  strove  to  calm  the  tumultuous 
throbbing  of  his  heart,  his  head  instinctively 
turning  toward  the  fluttering  vestments  that 
he  could  barely  see. 

The  wind  still  piped  —  not  so  sonorous  a 
note,  however;  failing  cadences  it  had  and 
dying  falls,  as  of  a  song  that  is  sung  to  the 
end.  Once  again  the  boughs  beat  upon  the 
eaves  —  and,  what  was  that !  Skimpy's  heart 
gave  a  great  plunge,  and  he  felt  the  blood 
rush  to  his  head.  A  faint  clatter  —  a  ra-ta- 
ta,  beaten  drum-like  on  the  rail  fence  of  the 
"  garden  spot  "  —  or  was  it  his  fancy  ? 

The  wind   comes   again    down  the   gorge. 


226     THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

The  althea  bushes  and  the  holly  shiver  to 
gether.  The  dead  Indian  corn,  standing 
writhen  and  bent  in  the  fields,  sighs  and 
sighs  for  the  sere  season.  And  the  boughs 
of  the  tree  lash  the  roof.  An  interval.  And 
once  more  —  ra-ta-ta  !  from  the  garden  fence ! 
And  ra-ta-ta,  again. 


XIV. 

THE  group  below  took  no  heed  how  the 
time  passed.  Thinking  of  it  afterward,  they 
said  it  seemed  only  a  few  moments  before 
they  heard  amongst  the  fitful  gusts  of  the 
wind,  wearing  away  now,  and  the  dull  stir 
ring  of  the  tree  without,  a  hurried,  irregular 
footstep  suddenly  falling  on  the  porch,  a 
groping,  nervous  hand  fumbling  at  the  latch. 

"  Hev  ye  los'  yer  manners  ez  ye  can't  knock 
at  the  door,"  said  Peter  Sawyer  sardonically, 
speaking  through  his  teeth,  for  he  still  held 
his  pipe-stem  in  his  mouth. 

Ike  had  burst  in  without  ceremony  and 
stood  upon  the  threshold,  holding  the  door  in 
one  hand  and  gazing  about  with  wild  eyes, 
half  blinded  by  the  light,  uncertain  whether 
Skimpy  was  really  absent  or  overlooked 
among  the  rest. 

"I  —  I  —  kem  ter  see  Skimpy,"  he  fal 
tered. 


228          THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

Mrs.  Sawyer  had  set  the  baby  on  the  floor 
beside  Bose,  and  had  folded  her  arms  stiffly. 
She  looked  at  Ike  with  heightened  color  and 
a  flashing  eye. 

"Waal,  I  ain't  keerin'  ef  ye  never  see 
Skimpy  ag'in,"  she  said  indignantly,  "  con- 
siderin'  the  way  ye  treat  him.  That  thar 
boy  air  tender  in  his  feelin's,  an'  he  hev  been 
settin'  hyar  an'  cryin'  his  eyes  out  'count  o' 
you-uns.  Ye  want  ter  torment  him  some  mo', 
I  s'pose." 

Ike  stared  bewildered.  "  I  ain't  never 
tormented  Skimp  none  ez  I  knows  on." 

"  Ye  ain't !  "  exclaimed  Obadiah,  scorn 
fully.  Then  grotesquely  distorting  his  face 
he  careened  to  one  side  and  began  to  wheeze 
distractingly  —  "  Oh  —  aw  —  yi-i,  Mister  Ky- 
une,  Oh — aw — ee-ee,  Mister  Ky-une." 

As  Ike  still  stood  holding  the  door  open,  the 
flames  bowed  fantastically  before  the  wind, 
sending  puffs  of  smoke  into  the  room  and 
scurrying  ashes  about  the  hearth. 

"  Kem  in,  ef  ye  air  a-comin',  an'  go  out  ef 
ye  air  a-goin',"  said  Mrs.  Sawyer  tartly. 
"  Ennyhow  we-uns  will  feel  obligated  ef  ye  '11 
shet  that  door." 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.  229 

The  invitation  was  none  too  cordial,  but 
Ike  availed  himself  of  the  opportunity  to 
speak,  since  the  matter  was  so  important. 

He  closed  the  door  and  sat  down  on  the  end 
of  the  bench  where  Skimpy  had  been  sitting 
so  short  a  time  bef  orek 

"  Skimp  'lows  that 's  the  way  ye  mocked 
him,"  said  Obadiah.  "  An'  ye  wants  ter  see 
him  ag'in,  do  ye  ?  Ef  I  war  Skimp  I  'd  gin 
ye  sech  a  dressin'  ez  ye  wouldn't  want  ter 
see  me  ag'in  soon."  He  winked  fiercely  at 
Ike  and  nodded  his  head.  Then  he  stuck  his 
violin  under  his  chin  and  began  to  saw  away 
once  more  as  if  nothing  had  happened. 

Ike  gave  a  great  gulp  as  if  he  literally 
swallowed  a  bitter  dose  in  taking  Obadiah's 
defiance ;  the  strain  on  his  temper  was  se 
vere,  but  he  succeeded  in  controlling  himself. 
It  was  in  a  calm  and  convincing  voice  that 
he  said  :  — 

"  Oby,  ye  an'  me,  an'  Skimp,  and  the 
t'  others  "  —  pointing  to  the  tangled-up  wrest 
lers  —  "  hev  been  too  good  f rien's  ter  be  parted 
by  folks  tattlin'  lies  an'  tales  from  one  ter 
'nother.  I  never  said  sech.  I  never  mocked 


230    THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

Skimpy 's  singin'  sence  I  been  born.  I  hev 
sot  too  much  store  by  Skimp  fur  that,  an'  he 
oughter  know  it." 

Mrs.  Sawyer's  expression  softened.  "Ye 
only  would  hev  proved  yerse'f  a  idjit  ef  ye 
hed  faulted  Skimpy's  singin',''  she  said. 
Then,  still  more  genially  — "  Set  up  closer 
ter  the  fire.  It  mus'  be  airish  out'n  doors. 
Who  d'  ye  reckon  tole  Skimp  sech  a  wicked, 
mean  story  on  ye  ?  " 

Ike  trembled  in  his  eagerness  to  tell.  "  I 
dunno  fur  true,  Mis'  Sawyer,  and  mebbe  I 
ought  n't  ter  say,  but  I  b'lieves  it  be  Jerry 
Binwell,  kase  Skimpy  hev  been  goin'  a  pow 
erful  deal  with  him  lately,  an'  "  — 

Peter  Sawyer  turned  suddenly  upon  the 
boy.  "The  truth  ain't  in  ye,  Ike  Guyther. 
Ye  knows  ez  yer  dad  an'  yer  uncle,  an'  yerse'f 
an'  yer  folks  ginerally,  air  the  only  critters  in 
the  Cove  ez  would  'sociate  with  Jerry  Binwell, 
an'  live  in  fellowship  with  him  under  the  same 
roof.  I  'low  they  air  crazy  —  plumb  bereft. 
It 's  yer  folks  ez  hev  harbored  him  hyar,  an' 
ye  can't  tar  Skimpy  with  sayin'  he  consorts 
with  sech.  I  forbid  Skimp  ever  ter  go  with 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.    231 

you-uns  enny  mo',  so  's  ter  keep  him  out'n 
Binwell's  way.  Now,  sir ;  ye  can't  shoulder 
him  off  on  Skimpy  !  " 

Ike's  face  turned  scarlet.  "  I  hev  glimpsed 
Skimp  with  him  ag'in  an'  ag'in.  An'  I 
b'lieves  he  be  a-goin'  ter  git  Skimp  inter 
mischief." 

Obadiah  laid  his  fiddle  down  on  his  knee, 
pursed  up  his  lips,  and  looked  aggravatingly 
cross-eyed  at  Ike,  up  from  his  toes  to  the 
crown  of  his  head. 

"  'T  would  n't  take  much  mo',  Ike,  ter  make 
me  settle  you-uns,"  he  observed. 

"  I  ain't  keerin'  fur  you-uns,  Obadiah  ! " 
cried  Ike.  "  I  hev  kem  ter  say  my  say  —  an' 
I  'm  a-goin'  ter  do  it.  I  b'lieve  Jerry  Bin- 
well  air  arter  old  Squair  Torbett's  money 
what  folks  'low  he  hid  in  a  box  in  a  hollow  o' 
Keedon  Bluffs. " 

Peter  Sawyer's  pipe  had  fallen  from  his 
hand,  and  the  fire  and  tobacco  and  ashes 
rolled  out  upon  the  hearth.  He  gave  it  no 
heed.  He  sat  motionless,  leaning  forward, 
his  elbows  on  his  knees,  his  surprised,  intent 
eyes  fixed  upon  the  boy's  face. 


232     THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

"  I  never  s'picioned  at  fust  what  he  war  ar- 
ter,  though  I  seen  him  foolin'  ream'  them 
Bluffs  an'  a-climbin'  on  the  ledges.  But  I 
knowed  'twar  suthin'  cur'us.  An'  whenst  I 
seen  Skimp  along  o'  him  so  much  I  kem  hyar 
this  evenin'  an'  tried  ter  warn  him.  But  ter- 
night  I  hearn  Jerry  Binwell  ax  uncle  Ab  — 
him  it  war  ez  holped  the  Squair  hide  the  box 
whilst  Jerry  Binwell  watched  —  what  hollow 
he  hid  it  in." 

"An'  — an'  — did  Ab  tell  him?  "  demanded 
Peter  Sawyer,  leaning  down,  his  excited  face 
close  to  Ike's,  his  eyes  full  of  curiosity  and 
more  —  intention,  suspicion. 

Once  again  Ike  recognized  the  false  position 
into  which  his  uncle  was  thrust.  How  could 
any  man's  honest  repute  survive  a  misunder 
standing  like  this?  He  realized  that  in  his 
eager  desire  to  save  his  friend  his  tongue  had 
outstripped  his  prudence. 

"  I  jes'  wanter  tell  Skimp  what  I  hearn," 
he  said,  declining  to  answer  categorically, 
"an'  then  let  him  go  on  with  Binwell  ef  he 
wants  ter.  I  war  feared  he'd  purvail  on 
Skimp,  by  foolin'  him  somehows,  ter  snake 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.  233 

inter  them  hollows  an'  git  that  box  fur  him. 
Whar  be  Skimp  ?  " 

"  Asleep  in  bed,  whar  he  oughter  be,  Ike," 
said  Skimpy's  mother  contentedly  rocking  by 
the  fire. 

Peter  Sawyer  hesitated  for  a  moment. 
Then  he  slowly  rose.  "  'T  won't  hurt  Skimp 
ter  wake  him  up.  He  mought  ez  well  hear 
this  ez  not." 

He  winked  at  his  wife.  He  thought  that 
if  Skimpy  were  present  he  himself  would  hear 
more  of  the  whereabouts  of  the  box,  which 
might  prove  of  service  in  the  constable's 
search  for  it,  when  the  ladder  could  be  found 
or  a  substitute  provided.  He  walked  toward 
the  primitive  stairway,  feeling  very  clever 
and  a  trifle  surprised  at  the  promptitude  and 
acumen  of  his  decision.  He  himself  would 
wake  Skimpy  in  order  to  give  him  a  quiet 
caution  not  to  become  involved  in  any  quar 
rel  that  might  restrain  or  prevent  Ike's  dis 
closure.  He  tramped  slowly  and  heavily  up 
the  ladder  as  if  he  were  not  used  to  it,  and 
indeed  he  seldom  ascended  into  the  roof-room, 
its  chief  use  being  that  of  a  dormitory  for  the 


234    THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

boys.  As  he  left  the  bright  scene  below,  suf 
fused  with  mellow  light,  the  shadows  began 
to  gloom  about  him  as  if  they  came  down  a 
rung  or  two  to  meet  him  or  to  lend  him  a 
helping  hand ;  he  raised  his  eyebrows  and 
peered  curiously  about.  His  head  was  hardly 
above  the  level  of  the  floor  of  the  loft  before 
he  became  aware  that  the  roof-room  was  full 
of  motion.  He  gave  a  sudden  start,  and  stood 
still  to  stare,  to  collect  his  senses  that  surely 
had  played  him  false.  No,  —  solemnly  waver 
ing  to  and  fro,  a  pace  here,  a  measure  there, 
was  the  gaunt  company  of  old  clothes,  visi 
ble  in  the  glimmer  through  the  crevices  of 
the  floor,  and  bearing  the  semblance  of  life  in 
the  illusions  of  the  faint  light  and  the  failing 
shadow,  as  if  they  had  outwitted  fate  some 
how,  despite  their  owners'  mounds  in  the  lit 
tle  mountain  graveyard.  Peter  Sawyer  gasped 
—  then  he  shivered.  And  it  was,  perhaps, 
this  involuntary  expression  of  physical  dis 
comfort  which  led  his  mind  to  judge  of  cause 
and  effect.  "The  winder  mus'  be  open,"  he 
said  through  his  chattering  teeth. 

The  next  moment  he  saw  it  —  he  saw  the 


TEE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.    235 

purplish  square  amidst  the  darkness  of  the 
walls  ;  the  naked  boughs  of  the  tree  without ; 
and  high,  high  —  for  he  was  looking  upward 
—  the  massive  looming  mountain,  and  the 
moon,  the  yellow  waning  moon,  rising  through 
the  gap  in  the  range. 

"  The  wind  's  laid,"  he  muttered,  "  or  the 
flappin'  o'  that  thar  shutter  would  hev  woke 
the  boy  afore  this  time." 

He  clumsily  ascended  the  remaining  rungs 
and  strode  across  the  floor  to  Skimpy's  bed, 
looking  now  with  curious  half-averted  eyes 
at  the  lifelike  figures  of  the  old  clothes,  and 
then  at  the  yellow  moon  shining  through  the 
little  window  into  the  dusky  place,  and  draw 
ing  the  shadow  of  the  neighboring  tree  upon 
the  floor. 

Sawyer's  hand  touched  the  pillow. 

"Skimpy!  "he  said.     And  again,  "Skim- 

py!" 

It  was  a  louder  tone.  A  penetrating  qual 
ity  it  had,  charged  as  it  was  with  a  sudden, 

keen  fear. 

r 

"  Fetch  a  light ! "  he  cried,  running  to  the 
top  of  the  ladder,  dashing  away  the  spectral 


236     THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

garments.  "  Fetch  the  lantern,  Oby,  or  a  tal 
low  dip." 

Below  they  heard  his  quick  footsteps  re 
turning  to  the  bed  as  they  sprang  up,  af 
frighted,  yet  hardly  knowing  what  had  hap 
pened. 

"  Skimpy  !  "  his  voice  sounded  strong  again 
—  reassured ;  he  could  not,  would  not  believe 
this  thing.  "  Quit  foolin',  sonny  ;  whar  hev 
ye  hid?" 

Skimpy's  mother  had  waited  for  neither 
the  candle  nor  the  lantern  ;  she  mounted  the 
ladder  by  the  light  of  the  fire,  and  she  under 
stood  what  had  happened  almost  as  soon  as 
Ike  did,  as  pale  and  dismayed  he  looked  over 
her  shoulder  into  the  dusky  garret.  The 
golden  moonlight  fell  through  the  little  win 
dow  upon  the  slowly -pacing  clothes,  and  drew 
the  image  of  the  bare  tree  upon  the  floor,  and 
slanted  upon  the  empty  bed  by  which  Peter 
Sawyer  stood  crying  aloud  —  "  He  hev  gone, 
wife ;  he  hev  gone  ! " 


XV. 

THE  great  gray  sandstone  heights  of  Kee- 
don  Bluffs  began  to  glimmer  in  the  midst  of 
the  black  night  when  the  yellow  moon,  slow 
and  pensive,  showed  its  waning  disk,  half 
veiled  with  a  fibrous  mist,  in  the  gap  of  the 
eastern  mountain.  The  woods  were  still 
densely  dark  on  the  other  side  of  the  road. 
A  slender  beech,  white  and  spectral,  was 
dimly  suggested  at  their  verge,  shuddering 
and  shivering  in  the  last  vagrant  gust  of  the 
wind.  Skimpy  glanced  fearfully  at  it  for  a 
moment  as  he  came  softly  down  the  road  and 
then  he  stood  shivering  too,  with  his  hands  in 
his  pockets. 

A  swift,  dark  figure,  as  noiseless  as  if  un 
hampered  with  substance,  appeared  at  his  side, 
and  a  husky,  wheezing  voice  murmured  sud 
denly  —  "  Hyar  we  air,  Skimp  !  " 

Even  so  bated  a  tone  did  not  elude  the 
alert  echo.  "  S-Skimp-imp-mp,"  the  Bluffs 


238     THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

were  sibilantly  multiplying  the  tones.  It 
seemed  to  Skimpy  that  some  vague  spy  of  the 
earth  or  of  the  air  was  repeating  the  sound  to 
charge  its  memory  with  the  word.  He  could 
ill  trust  even  Keedon  Bluffs  with  the  secret 
of  his  name  now,  and  he  looked  with  futile 
deprecation  over  his  shoulder  at  every  whis 
per  of  the  familiar  word. 

"Don't  talk !  "  he  said  nervously. 
"  Shucks  !  "  exclaimed  Binwell ;  "  I 'd  sing 
ef  I  war  minded  ter  —  an'  ef  I  hed  a  pipe 
like  yourn.  What  ails  ye  ter  be  so  trembly  ? 
'T ain't  no  s'prisin'  job  —  it 's  fun,  boy !  An' 
ter-morrer  ye  and  me  will  go  an'  cut  down 
them  pines  an'  git  old  Fat-sides'  ladder  out'n 
'em." 

Skimpy  plucked  up  a  little.  The  prospect 
of  retrieving  his  folly  reassured  him.  It  was 
the  hour,  the  secrecy  of  his  escape  from  the 
roof-room  window  at  home,  the  atmosphere  of 
mystery  that  surrounded  the  adventure,  he 
endeavored  to  think,  rather  than  any  distrust 
of  Jerry  Binwell,  which  shook  his  nerves.  He 
lent  himself  with  docile  acquiescence  to  a  sort 
of  harness  of  rope  which  the  man  slipped  over 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.     239 

his  head  and  secured  heneath  his  armpits,  one 
end  fastened  to  Binwell's  arm.  Its  ostensi 
ble  use  was  to  aid  the  boy  while  climbing,  in 
case  he  should  slip  among  the  ledges.  A 
mind  prone  to  suspicion  might  have  deemed 
its  utility  most  pronounced  in  preventing 
Skimpy  from  hiding  anew  or  making  off  with 
anything  of  value  which  he  might  find  hidden 
in  the  hollows. 

There  were  no  shadows  on  the  brow  of 
the  precipice  when  the  golden  rays  from  the 
moon  rested  broadly  upon  the  road  or  jour 
neyed  in  long  stately  files  down  the  sylvan 
vistas.  Both  man  and  boy  had  slipped  from 
the  verge,  and  were  clambering  along  the 
jagged,  oblique  ledges  of  the  Bluffs,  Skimpy 
often  stayed  and  helped  by  the  strong  hand 
of  the  other.  The  moon  was  higher  now  in 
the  sky.  A  white  radiant  presence  suddenly 
began  to  walk  upon  the  water.  Down  be 
tween  the  banks  it  carne,  upon  the  lustrous 
darkness  of  the  current  and  the  mirrored 
shadows,  diffusing  softest  splendor,  most  be 
nignant  and  serene.  Skimpy,  pausing  to  rest, 
hearing  the  stir  of  the  pines  on  the  opposite 


240    THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

bank  and  the  musical  monotone  of  the  river, 
stood  mopping  his  brow  and  clinging  to  the 
strong  arm  held  out  to  him ;  he  abruptly 
pointed  out  the  reflection  of  the  moon  to  his 
companion,  and  asked  if  it  did  not  remind 
him  of  that  night  on  a  distant  sea  when  Christ 
came  walking  along  the  troubled  waves. 

A  sudden  great  lurch  !  It  was  not  Skimpy, 
but  Binwell  —  the  athlete  —  who  started  ab 
ruptly,  and  almost  fell  from  the  Bluff  into  the 
water  far  below.  He  recovered  himself  with 
an  oath. 

"Ain't  ye  got  no  better  sense,  ye  weasel! 
'n  ter  set  out  with  sech  senseless,  onexpected 
gabble  in  sech  a  job  ez  this  ?  Naw,  it  don't 
look  like  nuthin'  —  nuthin' but  a  powerful  on- 
lucky  wanin'  moon,  a-showin'  how  the  time  's 
a-wastin'.  Ye  hustle  yer  bones  else  I'll  drap 
ye  down  thar  an'  then  ye  '11  find  out  what's 
walked  on  the  water." 

Skimpy  said  nothing  ;  he  heartily  wished 
he  was  on  the  top  of  Keedon  Bluffs  once  more. 
Their  steps  dislodged  now  and  then  a  bit  of 
stone  from  the  rock  that  fell  with  a  ringing 
sound  against  the  face  of  the  Bluffs  into  the 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.     241 

river.  Sometimes  clods  dropped  with  a  muf 
fled  thud  ;  every  moment  the  moon  grew 
brighter.  There  were  no  more  stoppages  on 
the  way.  Binwell  urged  the  boy  on  when 
ever  he  would  pause  for  breath,  and  it  was 
not  long  before  they  were  near  the  gaping 
cavities  that  looked  grewsome  and  uninviting 
enough  as  Skimpy  approached.  He  cast  one 
despairing  glance  up  at  the  face  of  the  cliffs  — 
it  seemed  that  he  could  never  again  stand  on 
the  summit,  so  long,  so  toilsome  was  the  way. 
He  might  have  thought  it  short  enough  with 
some  hearty  comrade.  For  Binwell's  grasp 
was  savage  now  on  the  boy's  arm ;  he  cursed 
Skimpy  under  his  breath  whenever  a  step  fal 
tered.  He  no  longer  cared  to  be  smooth,  to 
propitiate.  "  He  'd  take  me  by  the  scruff  o' 
the  neck,  an'  pitch  me  into  the  ruver  ef  I  did 
n't  do  his  bid  now,  bein'  ez  I  can't  holp  my 
self,"  thought  Skimpy,  appalled. 

A* pity  that  a  boy  cannot  inherit  his  father's 
experience  —  but  must  learn  wisdom  as  it 
were  under  the  lash  ! 

Very  black  indeed  the  first  of  the  cavities 
was  as  he  passed ;  he  hardly  dared  look  within 


242    THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

the  embrasure-like  place  ;  no  grim  muzzle  of  a 
gun  he  beheld,  no  bursting  shell  flung  forth ; 
only  a  bat's  soft,  noiseless  wings  striking  him 
in  the  face  as  he  climbed  by  on  the  ledge  be 
low.  The  second  hollow  was  passed  too,  and 
now  for  the  third.  Binwell  stopped  the  boy, 
and  began  to  rearrange  the  cords  beneath  his 
arms.  u  Confound  ye,"  he  said,  his  fingers 
trembling  over  the  knots  as  he  lifted  his  eyes 
reproachfully  to  the  boy's  face,  "ye  hev  got 
me  plumb  upset  with  yer  fool  talk  —  I  'lowed 
jes'  now  I  hearn  leetle  Rosamondy  a-callin' 
me." 

The  rocks  were  vibrating  softly  —  but  could 
the  echoes  of  Keedon  Bluffs  repeat  the  fancy 
of  a  sound ! 

Skimpy  stretched  his  arm  into  the  cavity 
as  far  as  it  might  go,  half  expecting  it  to  be 
snatched  by  the  claw  of  a  witch ;  but  no  — 
his  empty  palm  closed  only  on  the  clammy 
air. 

"  Up  with  ye  !  "  said  Jerry  impatiently. 

One  moment  —  and  there  were  the  duskily 
purple  mountains,  the  gray  obscurity  of  the 
misty  intervals,  the  lustrous  darkness  of  the 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.  243 

river,  the  fair  sky,  and  the  reigning  moon ; 
then  the  vault-like  blackness  of  the  hollow. 

The  boy  scuffled  along  it  for  a  few  mo 
ments,  "  snakin'  it,"  he  called  the  process, 
and  feeling  like  so  much  pith  in  the  bark. 
Binwell  still  paid  out  the  cord  as  Skimpy 
crept  further  and  further,  and  then  — 

What  was  the  matter  with  the  rocks  !  En 
dowed  with  Rosamond's  voice  they  called  him 
again  and  again,  with  dulcet  treble  iteration 
that  was  like  the  fine  vibrations  of  a  stringed 
instrument  all  in  tune.  He  listened,  paling  a 
little  ;  it  was  no  fancy ;  he  was  discovered. 
He  stood  his  ground  for  the  nonce.  What 
affinity  for  harm  and  wrong  !  The  coward 
might  be  brave  for  a  space. 

Another  voice  ;  he  jerked  nervously  at  the 
cord  on  Skimpy 's  arm.  It  was  Abner's  voice  ; 
he  was  on  the  summit  of  the  Bluffs.  He  too 
was  calling  aloud : 

"  Kern  up,  Jerry,  't  ain't  no  use.  Kem 
up." 

Jerry  made  no  answer ;  he  muttered  only 
to  himself,  "  Ye  ?11  fall  off'n  the  aidge  o'  that 
Bluff  unbeknown  ter  yerse'f,  ole  mole  ! " 


244     THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

Abner  began  anew  and  all  the  echoes  were 
pleading  and  insistent.  "  Kem  up,  Jerry  I 
Ye  '11  be  deesgraced  fur  life,  and  hyar  's  lee- 
tie  Rosamondy  a-waitin'  fur  ye  !  " 

Jerry  was  standing  breathless,  for  Skimpy 
within  was  suddenly  motionless.  Then  the 
cord  grew  slack  in  his  hand,  for  the  boy  was 
coming  out  backward. 

Binwell  gave  no  heed  to  the  commotion  on 
the  summit.  A  heavy,  clanking  metallic 
sound  had  caught  his  ear  —  it  was  the  money 
box  of  the  Squire  which  the  boy  was  drag 
ging  out,  every  moment  coming  nearer  to 
that  clutching,  quivering  hand. 

Ah,  Rosamond,  calling  in  vain  !  Give  it 
up,  old  soldier !  No  battle-cry  of  honor  can 
rally  comrades  like  this.  But  they  pressed 
perilously  close  to  the  edge  of  the  cliff  —  the 
blind  man  and  the  little  child  —  beginning 
to  sob  together  with  dreary  helplessness  and 
futility,  and  casting  their  hopeless  entreaties 
upon  the  night  air,  the  echoes  joining  their 
pleas  with  wild  insistence,  and  the  forest 
silence  holding  its  breath  that  no  wistful 
word  might  be  lost. 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.     245 

And  thus  others  found  them,  shadowy  fig 
ures  as  stealthily  approaching  as  if  the  blind 
man  could  see,  and  the  confiding  little  child 
wonder; — two,  three,  four,  five  figures  paus 
ing  on  the  summit  of  the  cliff,  watching  in 
intensest  excitement  the  man  on  the  ledge, 
and,  slowly  emerging  from  the  cavity,  drag 
ging  after  him  an  iron  box  twelve  inches 
square  perhaps  ana  weighty  to  handle,  a  boy, 
slight,  agile,  unmistakable. 

Skimpy,  covered  with  dust,  choking,  out 
of  breath,  confused  by  the  sound  of  voices  on 
the  summit  and  the  clamor  of  the  echoes, 
hardly  knew  how  it  was  that  he  should  hear 
in  the  medley  the  familiar  tones  of  his  father 
calling  on  Heaven  to  pity  him,  for  his  son 
was  a  thief  !  He  heard  too  the  voice  of  the 
child  and  the  blind  soldier's  entreaties.  And 
then  the  sharp  tones  of  the  constable  rang 
out — "Surrender  thar — or  I  fire!"  His 
senses  reeled  as  Bin  well,  catching  the  box 
from  his  hands,  turned  and  with  quick  leaps 
like  a  fox's  clambered  on  down  the  ledges. 
The  cord  was  still  about  Skimpy's  shoulders  ; 
with  a  sharp  twist  he  came  to  his  knees  in 


246     THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

great  pain  ;  then  the  end  of  the  rope  swung 
slack  below,  and  he  knew  that  Binwell  had 
just  cut  it  to  liberate  himself — a  great  splash 
in  the  river  told  that  he  had  taken  to  the 
water  and  the  constable's  bullet  whizzed  by 
the  Bluffs  a  second  too  late. 

"  He  '11  hev  ter  gin  up  the  box  time  I  light 
out  arter  him,"  cried  the  constable  ;  "  1 11 
meet  up  with  him  by  the  ruver-bank.  He 
can't  run  fur  with  a  heavy  box  full  o'  gold 
an'  silver." 

There  was  no  use  in  keeping  the  secret 
longer. 

"It's  full  o'  sand!"  cried  the  blind  man 
with  dreary  contempt  in  the  fact.  "  The 
Squair  kerried  it  full  o'  sand  whenst  he  buried 
it — jes'  fur  a  blind.  He  knowed  Jerry 
s'picioned  he  hed  money  an'  he  never  trested 
him.  Jerry  kep'  watch,  an'  I  clomb  the 
Bluffs,  an'  hid  the  box.  Whar  the  Squair  an' 
me  actially  hid  the  money  war  in  a  hollow  o' 
one  o'  the  logs  o'  his  house,  an'  thar's  whar 
the  money  war  kep'  till  the  e-end  o'  the  war. 
The  heirs  knowed  it  all  the  time.  Write  ter 
Arkansas  an'  ax  the  one  ez  be  livin'  thar." 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.    247 

A  relish  was  added  to  the  excitement 
which  the  events  produced  throughout  the 
Cove  next  day  by  the  gossips'  speculations 
on  Binwell's  disappointment — how  he  must 
have  looked,  what  he  must  have  said,  when  he 
felt  sufficiently  safe  to  open  the  box  and  found 
it  full  of  sand.  For  he  made  good  his  escape, 
the  pursuit  being  given  over  instantly  upon 
the  discovery  that  he  had  stolen  nothing  worth 
having.  The  constable  contented  himself  with 
declaring  that  he  should  never  again  come 
within  the  district  save  to  be  ushered  into  the 
county  jail.  The  neighborhood  cronies  con 
gregated  at  the  store  and  talked  the  matter 
over,  each  having  some  instance  of  Binwell's 
duplicity  to  relate.  All  were  willing  enough 
to  credit  Peter  Sawyer's  account  of  how 
Skimpy  had  been  deluded  into  assisting  Bin- 
well's  scheme  by  the  pretense  that  there  were 
only  papers  hidden  in  the  box  which  he  had  a 
right  to  destroy.  Notwithstanding  the  fact 
that  no  suspicion  rested  upon  him,  Skimpy 
was  not  for  a  long  time  so  blithe  a  lad  as  be 
fore  he  climbed  down  Keedon  Bluffs.  And 
he  is  ready  now  to  believe  that  his  father 


248     TEE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

learned  a  good  many  things  in  those  years  of 
seniority  which  are  still  unknown  to  him,  and 
he  has  some  respect  for  experience.  It  is  not 
necessary  to  scald  him  now  in  order  to  con 
vince  him  that  boiling  water  is  — as  it  is  said 
to  be  —  hot. 

The  blind  man's  story  was  amply  confirmed 
by  a  letter  from  the  surviving  heir  who  had 
been  told  by  his  father  of  the  hoax  of  the 
hidden  box,  and  who  had  always  relished  its 
mystery,  since  it  had  served  its  purpose  and 
had  diverted  plunder  and  search  from  the 
hoard  concealed  in  the  wall. 

At  Hiram  Guyther's  cabin,  however,  the 
gossip  had  no  zest.  For  the  first  time  a  deep 
gloom  had  fallen  on  the  blind  soldier's  face  as 
he  sat  in  his  enforced  inactivity,  a-wasting  his 
life  away  in  the  chimney  corner.  His  gray 
hair  hardly  seemed  so  incongruous  now,  for 
an  ashen  furrowed  pallid  anxiety  had  replaced 
the  florid  tints  of  cheek  and  brow.  Some 
times  he  would  rise  from  his  chair  and  stride 
back  and  forth  the  length  of  the  room  ;  now 
and  again  a  deep  sigh  would  burst  from  him. 

"I  wouldn't  mind  it,  Ab,"  Mrs.  Guyther 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.  249 

would  say  in  her  comforting  soft  drawl.  "Ye 
done  all  ye  could  —  more  'n  enny  other  man 
would,  'flicted  with  blindness.  Fairly  makes 
me  shiver  whenst  I  'member  ye  an'  Rosa- 
mondy  walkin'  along  them  cliffs  in  the  dead 
o'  night  like  ye  done." 

"  She  '11  never  be  able  ter  live  through  it 
when  she  finds  out  'bout  her  dad  ;  she  's  a  gal 
ez  be  a-goin'  ter  hev  a  heap  o'  feelin's,"  he 
would  groan,  with  prescient  grief  for  the  gay 
Rosamond's  future  woes.  "  It  '11  plumb  kill 
her  ter  know  she  don't  kem  o'  honest  folks. 
Ef  it  don't  —  it's  wuss  yit ;  fur  it'll  break 
her  spent,  an'  that 's  like  livin'  along  'thout 
a  soul;  sorter  like  walkin'  in  yer  sleep." 

And  even  Ike's  mother  could  say  naught 
to  this. 

Only  on  aunt  Jemima's  countenance  a  grim 
satisfaction  began  to  dawn.  She  was  not  an 
optimist ;  nevertheless  she  contrived  to  ex 
tract  a  drop  of  honey  from  all  this  worm 
wood. 

"  It 's  all  fur  the  bes'  —  I  've  hearn  that 
preached  all  my  days.  Ev'y  body  knowed 
eunyhow  ez  he  war  mean  enough  fur  enny- 


250     THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

thing — ter  steal,  ef  'casion  riz.  An' he  war 
her  dad  ;  could  n't  git  roun'  that !  All 's  fur 
the  bes' !  Ef  he  hed  hev  stayed  he  mought 
hev  tuk  a  notion  ter  kerry  Rosamondy  away 
from  hyar.  Now  he  don't  dare  ter  show  his 
nose  hyar  ag'in.  An'  we  hev  got  Rosamondy 
safe  an'  sure  fur  good  an'  all." 

So  she  knitted  on  with  a  stern  endorse 
ment  of  the  course  of  events  expressed  in  her 
firmly-set  lips  and  the  decisive  click  of  her 
needles. 

Even  this  view  did  not  mitigate  Abner's 
grief,  and  he  sorrowed  on  for  Rosamondy 's 
sake. 

The  secret  of  Keedon  Bluffs  once  discovered 
was  spread  far  and  wide.  The  news,  crossing 
the  ranges,  penetrated  other  coves,  and  was 
talked  of  round  many  a  stranger's  hearth. 
Even  to  Persimmon  Cove,  where  Jerry  Bin- 
well  had  married,  the  story  came,  albeit 
tardily.  It  was  told  first  there  by  the  sheriff, 
who  had  chanced  to  be  called  to  that  remote 
and  secluded  spot  in  pursuit  of  some  evil  doer 
hiding  in  the  mountains,  and  he  gave  to  the 
constable,  as  he  passed  through  Tanglefoot 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.    251 

Cove  on  liis  way  to  the  county  town,  sundry 
items,  gathered  during  his  stay  in  Persimmon 
Cove,  which  that  functionary  felt  it  was  his 
duty  to  communicate  to  the  Guythers. 

It  was  a  widow  whom  Jerry  Bin  well  had 
married  in  Persimmon  Cove  —  a  young  wo 
man  with  one  child  ;  and  when  he  left  the 
place  after  her  death,  he  took  his  step 
daughter  with  him  ;  some  people  said  his 
motive  was  to  spite  her  grandmother,  with 
whom  he  had  quarreled,  and  who  had  sought 
to  claim  her  ;  others  said  that  it  was  because 
the  little  Rosamond  contrived  to  keep  a  strong 
hold  on  the  heart  of  every  creature  that  came 
near  her,  and  had  even  won  upon  Jerry  Bin- 
well.  Certain  it  was  that  old  Mrs.  Peters, 
her  grandmother,  had  heard  with  great  de 
light  the  tidings  of  Rosamond's  whereabouts, 
and  the  sheriff  had  promised  her  to  acquaint 
with  the  facts  the  family  with  whom  the  child 
lived. 

Every  member  of  the  household  felt  stunned 
as  by  a  blow  when  the  constable  had  left  them 
to  their  meditations.  Even  Rosamond,  with 
all  her  merry  arts,  could  not  win  a  smile  from 


252    THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFES. 

the  grave  and  troubled  faces  grouped  about 
the  fire,  and  she  desisted  at  last;  she  leaned 
her  head,  with  its  floating  lengths  of  golden 
hair,  against  the  brown  logs  of  the  wall,  and 
looked  wistfully  at  them  all  with  a  contem 
plative  finger  in  her  pink  mouth. 

"She  hev  ter  go!"  said  the  upright  Hiram 
Guyther  with  a  sigh,  "she  ain't  ourn  ter 
keep." 

"We  hev  ter  gin  her  up,"  groaned  the 
blind  man. 

Mrs.  Guyther  looked  wistfully  at  her  with 
moist  eyes,  and  dropped  a  half-dozen  stitches 
in  her  knitting. 

And  aunt  Jemima  suddenly  threw  her  blue- 
checked  cotton  apron  over  her  head,  and  burst 
into  a  tumult  of  passionate  tears.  "I  wisht," 
she  exclaimed  —  wicked  old  soul !  —  "  thar 
war  n't  no  sech  thing  ez  right  an'  wrong  ! 
But  I  don't  keer  fur  right.  An'  I  don't  keer 
fur  wrong.  They  shan't  take  my  child  away 
from  hyar." 

Although  it  wrung  their  hearts  they  decided 
to  relinquish  their  household  treasure.  But 
they  temporized  as  well  as  their  scanty  tact 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.     253 

would  enable  them.  A  message  was  sent  to 
old  Mrs.  Peters,  coupled  with  an  invitation  to 
come  and  make  them  a  visit.  And  thus  they 
eked  out  the  weeks. 

One  day  —  a  day  of  doom  it  seemed  to 
them  —  there  rode  up  to  the  door  a  small 
wizened  old  woman,  sharp-eyed,  with  a  high 
voice  and  a  keen  tongue ;  she  was  riding  a 
white  mare  with  a  colt  at  her  heels.  She 
scarcely  seemed  perturbed  by  Rosamond's  re 
luctance  to  recognize  her.  The  alert  eyes 
took  in  first  with  an  amazed  stare  the  child's 
cleanly  and  whole  attire,  her  delicately  tended 
flowing  hair,  her  fine,  full,  glowing  look  of 
health  ;  then  with  more  furtive  glances  she 
expended  what  capacity  for  astonishment  re 
mained  to  her  on  the  scoured  puncheon  floor, 
the  neat  women  and  men,  the  loom,  with  a 
great  roll  of  woven  cloth  of  many  yards  hang 
ing  to  it  ;  the  evidences  of  a  carefully  ad 
justed  domestic  routine,  of  thrift  and  decorum 
and  moral  worth;  the  cooking  and  quality 
of  the  meal  presently  set  forth  on  the  table. 
She  had  not  lived  so  long  in  this  world  to  be 
unable  to  recognize  sterling  people  when  she 
met  them. 


254     THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

They  all  talked  on  indifferent  topics  for  a 
time.  But  presently  she  broke  forth. 

"  I  dunno  ez  I  oughter  up  an'  remark  it 
so  flat-footed  — but  I  never  expected  ter  find 
Jerry  Binwell's  friends  sech  ez  you-uns.  I 
would  n't  hev  rid  my  mare's  back  sore  ef  I 
bed.  I  dunno  ez  I  'd  hev  kem  at  all." 

"Waal,"  said  Hiram  Guyther,  "I  reckon 
'twarleetle  Rosamondy  ez  jes'  tangled  herself 
up  in  our  heart-strings  —  an'  that  made  us 
put  np  with  Jerry.  We  'lowed  he  war  her 
dad." 

"  I  'm  powerful  glad  he  ain't ! "  said  Ab- 
ner. 

"  I  say !  "  cried  the  sharp  little  woman 
scornfully.  "  Her  dad  war  a  mighty  solid, 
'sponsible,  'spectable  young  man,  an'  good- 
lookin'  till  you  could  n't  rest !  "  He  'd  hev 
lived  till  he  war  eighty  ef  his  gun  bed  n't 
bust  an'  killed  him.  I  dunno  what  ailed 
Ern'line  ter  marry  sech  ez  Jerry  arterward. 
He  made  way  with  everything  her  fust  hus 
band  lef  ber,  an'  mighty  nigh  all  I  hed, 
'mongst  his  evil  frien's  an'  drinkin'.  But  he 
always  war  mighty  good  ter  Rosamondy.  I  '11 
gin  him  that  credit." 


THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.  255 

"  Ennybody  would  be  good  ter  sech  a  child 
ez  Rosamondy  !  "  cried  aunt  Jemima. 

"  Waal,  we  war  all  fiien's  ter  Jerry,  ez  fur 
ez  he  'd  let  us  be,  an'  ter  the  leetle  gal,"  said 
Hiram,  solidly,  "an'  I  hope,  mum,  ye  '11  let 
her  speu'  cornsider'ble  of  her  time  with  us." 

This  was  the  cautious  way  it  began,  al 
though  it  fired  aunt  Jemima's  blood  to  hear 
the  permission  humbly  craved  instead  of 
claimed  as  a  right. 

But  Mrs.  Peters  smilingly  accorded  it.  She 
herself  had  entered  upon  a  long  visit ;  when 
ever  she  made  a  motion  to  return,  the  family 
so  vehemently  demurred  that  she  relented, 
only  stipulating  that  when  she  should  depart 
aunt  Jemima  should  accompany  her.  She 
took  a  sad  pleasure  in  the  talk  of  the  blind 
artillery-man,  her  own  son,  who  was  killed  in 
battle,  having  been  in  the  same  command. 
Abuer  remembered  him  after  a  time,  and  told 
her  many  things  of  his  army  life  which  she 
had  not  before  known.  She  had  a  sort  of 
maternal  tenderness  for  his  comrade,  and 
loved  to  see  how  Rosamond  had  blossomed 
in  the  waste  places  of  his  life. 


256    THE  STORY  OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS. 

*'  I  don't  think  't  would  be  right  ter  take 
her  away  from  Ab,"  she  said,  when  the  visit 
was  at  last  at  an  end.  And  so  only  the  two 
old  women  went  to  Persimmon  Cove ;  together 
they  came  back  after  a  time.  And  thus  for 
years,  the  old  cronies,  cherishing  so  strong  a 
bond  of  friendship,  have  vibrated  on  visits  to 
and  fro.  But  whoever  cornes  or  goes  Rosa 
mond  has  never  yet  left  the  hearthstone  made 
brighter  by  her  presence. 

And  when  she  and  the  blind  artillery-man 
walk  hand  in  hand  down  the  shady  road  to 
Keedon  Bluffs,  she  always  cries  out  gleefully 
when  she  sees  the  great  cannon-ball  arrested 
midway  on  the  ledge,  and  he  tells  her  again 
how  it  must  have  burst  forth  from  the  muzzle 
of  the  gun  far  away,  and,  sounding  its  shrill 
battle  cry,  whirled  through  the  air,  describing 
a  great  arc  against  the  sky,  dropping  at  last, 
spent  and  futile,  on  the  ledge  there  above  the 
river. 

"Sometimes,"  he  says,  "sometimes,  Rosa- 
mondy,  I  feels  ez  ef  I  'd  like  ter  hiy  my  hand 
on  that  ball  ef  I  could  git  nigh  it  —  'minds 
me  so  o'  the  war  times;  'twould  bring  'em 
nigher ;  they  seems  a-slippin'  away  now." 


THE  STORY    OF  KEEDON  BLUFFS.     257 

"  I  hate  that  cannon-ball ;  it  kem  so  nigh 
a-killin'  somebody,"  says  Rosamondy,  "  an'  I 
hate  war  times.  An'  1  don't  want  folks  ter 
be  hurted  no  mo'." 

And  in  the  deep  peace  of  the  silent  moun 
tain  fastnesses  and  the  sheltered  depths  of  the 
Cove,  they  leave  the  old  ball,  spent  and  mute 
and  harmless,  lying  on  the  ledges  of  Keedon 
Bluffs,  above  the  reddening  river,  and  take 
their  way  homeward  through  the  sunset  glow. 


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UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

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